Crackedly Ever After
by strawberryfinn
Summary: All Rachel wants to do is survive college and become a star, but now she's living in a messed up fairy tale with seven, socially inept boys, who are proving to be quite the distraction. Finn/Rachel Finchel, Klaine AU  Snow White and the Seven Dwarves
1. of hormonal roommates & gay best friends

**Author's Note**: I am sure I have gone certifiably insane. If anybody sees my sanity, please let me know.

Anyways... I wanted to do a Finchel fiction... and out of the insane depths of my imagination, this is what happened. Please bear with me through this chapter-it was so fun to write but I'm not sure what your reception will be, so please let me know.

Also, I really hate the title. And I don't know what to do with it, so if you have any suggestions, please let me know.

**Summary**: All Rachel wants to do is survive college and become a star, but now she's living in a messed up fairy tale with seven, socially inept boys, who are proving to be quite the distraction. Finchel, Klaine AU

**Warnings**: sexual content, language, possible self-harm, abuse, attempted rape

**Rating**: M (to be safe)

**Genre**: Romance/Humor/Drama

**Pairings**: Finn/Rachel (Finchel), Kurt/Blaine (Klaine), Tina/Mike (Tike), Quinn/Puck (Quick), and so on and so forth as my wicked mind plots away

* * *

><p><strong>Crackedly Ever After<strong>

(as I have mentioned above, I absolutely hate this title, so please let me know if you have any suggestions)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

_of inconsiderate roommates and sympathetic gay friends_

* * *

><p>Rachel Berry is having an incredibly bad day.<p>

It starts out with the incredibly loud _pounding _and _moaning _that wakes her up from her much-needed beauty sleep. Classes are just about to start, and Rachel needs to rest up as much as possible before the start of the caffeine-induced all-nighters to finish term papers and to cram for tests. Plus, who on earth is so inconsiderate to wake her up and disturb her sleep to have sex at freaking _six in the morning_? Did they even sleepat all? Can't they just cool their hormones for one second rather than working themselves into some crazy, sex-filled frenzy at ungodly, truly unreasonable hours?

Rachel harmuphs into her sheets, burying her small face underneath her pillow, her glossy brown hair flying up around her, as she tries as hard to ignore the pounding from the room next to her.

_Thud._

"Oh, God, _yes!_"

_Thud_

"More, more, _please!_"

_Thud_

"Harder!"

The yelps and moans and screams are punctuated with _thuds_ of the bedpost meeting the wall. Rachel curls up in disgust, under her sheets. She puts up with the moans for thirty more seconds until there's a rather throaty shriek, and she _has had it._

"Santana!" Rachel screams, jumping up from her bed. "_Santana!_" She knocks, hard, on her stupid, inconsiderate (and perpetually hormonal) roommate's closed door (that has a lacy bra on the doorknob, a request for privacy, of _course, _though Rachel has always thought that people generally use a hat or a sock. Oh well, Santana, has always been an exception).

There's quiet for about five seconds, and Rachel breathes out a sigh of relief, readying herself to return to her room and sleep for another few, much-desired hours. Maybe they're going to stop.

_Thud_

Oh _hell _no.

"Santana Lopez!" Rachel's shriek is shrilly and indignant. "Santana Lopez, you get out of there _right _now! I saw that boy of yours and there is no way he has that much stamina!"

Silence again.

Rachel readies herself for another thud, gearing herself up to kick in Santana's door if that's what it takes (though she hopes to God that that's not what it takes because she's not sure she's strong enough to accomplish such a feat without breaking her own foot). But there are no more sex noises and no more _thuds_ so Rachel walks, indignantly, back to her bedroom and crawls back under the covers. Several minutes later, she's about to drift back into her much-desired slumber, when—

_Thud._

Oh yes, this morning is far from peachy.

* * *

><p>Three hours later, Rachel rouses her sore, fatigued body from under the sheets. She contemplates, for several seconds, just spending the rest of the year hiding under her covers and never emerging. Maybe she can become a hermit. Or maybe, instead of Broadway, she can earn her fame in the <em>Guinness World Record Book<em> as the girl who has lived in her own bed, refusing to move, for one hundred years.

These aspirations are short-lived and her day dreams are burst by several realizations: a) she has to pee so badly, she's pretty sure if she doesn't move, her bladder will burst, b) her stomach is growling, and she's hungry, and she's not sure who would feed her if she made her bed her permanent residence, c) she truly loves Broadway too much to give it up—even for the comfort of her bed, d) who on Earth will ever consider marrying her if she becomes a hermit and grows bushes of armpit and leg hair and never brushes her teeth?, and e) the thudding has stopped, so perhaps it is a good idea to get the hell out of her apartment before it starts up again.

Rachel decides to take care of first things first, and runs to the bathroom. After she's done using the toilet, she looks at herself in the mirror, studying her reflection. Big, brown eyes framed by long lashes, shiny chocolate hair, a rather big nose, but full lips. Yes, she is a rising star, alright (forget the fact that her pajamas are candy pink and there are white and lime green kittens patterned all over them). One day her name is going to be in the lights and all over New York and she will have her own glorious, upscale apartment without any selfish, horny roommates.

She ties her hair up into a ponytail and begins her morning routine with washing her face. Generally, this step is followed by her brushing her teeth and applying her makeup and practicing breathing exercises, but those steps are completely forgotten when she hears—oh God, is that _panting?—_coming from behind the shower curtain.

They're still at it? And in the shower that Santana and Rachel _share?_

This is not okay.

She stands in the bathroom, thinking through several courses of actions: a) she can just leave and wait until Santana and her boy toy finish, b) she can start screaming and throwing a tantrum like a five-year old, c) she can start crying and bemoaning her terrible, horrible misfortune, or d) she can maturely and calmly tell them to stop.

What actually happens is none of these things. What Rachel is planning to do is to go with plan d, but as she walks over to the shower curtain to say, clearly and firmly (as her two gay dads have taught her to speak when she's going into battle), "Santana, I would appreciate it if you would stop now," she slips on some water that has leaked out of the bathtub. Naturally, Rachel branches out her hand to break her fall, but this only results in her grabbing the shower curtain and slipping to land right on her ass. To add to the humiliation of her fall, her drenched pajama bottoms on the cold bathroom tile, the shower curtain rips to reveal a very pissed off, wet, and _naked _Santana Lopez and Boy-Whose-Name-Rachel-Can't-Remember in the middle of a very, graphic act that would not be appropriate for children of any age.

"Berry! What the hell is your problem?" comes Santana's bitch hiss, and though Rachel is not the one who is wrong, inconsiderate, and sex-crazed in this certain situation by any means, the way Santana's boy is glaring at her is unnerving and makes her uncomfortable.

Rachel chooses not to answer her sadistic roommate's question (besides, the question was most likely rhetorical, anyways), and instead, lets go of the shower curtain, stands up (and almost slipping again in the process), and scraps up the remains of her dignity to leave the restroom.

Well, as much dignity as a girl wearing a matching set of pink pajamas covered with cats can muster.

* * *

><p>Rachel sits, fully dressed and prepared to start the day, at the kitchen table. She knows she has a breakfast date with Kurt at Starbucks in half an hour, but some pressing matters have arisen in the last four hours that she feels the need to address.<p>

About fifteen minutes later, Santana flounces out, looking like the epitome of sex, and wearing nothing but a lacy, black bra and a pair of sweatpants. Her hair is dripping from her shower, and she kisses Boy-Whose-Name-Rachel-Can't-Remember (whose hair is also dripping) on the lips and wave, sending him out of the apartment with a wink. It's only after the boy has left and she's closed the door that Santana turns on Rachel, eyes venomous.

"Berry! What the fuck was that?" Santana's lips are pursed, her eyebrows curved downward, her eyes threatening.

Every single protest and argument Rachel had plotted out and planned in her mind dies out, right there, in her throat as she looks at her roommate—and her ex-best friend—in fear. Her lips fail to utter her rational, composed reply of, "Santana, in our roommate contract, we agreed to be civil and respectful of one another's privacy, space, and work. We agreed to let each other know when we would be bringing guests over. And I know that we are friends and I understand you have your _urges_, and I think as a friend, you should understand that I need sleep and it would only be reasonable to go to his place if you're going to have sex all night long," and instead, she just manages to squeak, "Santana, I don't think there's any need for coarse language."

"Fuck you," Santana snaps, flipping her wet hair behind her back. She crosses her arms across her lace-clad boobs. "Rachel, just calm your tits, okay?"

Rachel isn't quite sure what that expression has to do with anything, and if anyone has a right to _not _be calm, it's her, but she shuts her mouth because she doesn't want to piss off Santana any more than necessary. Though she's never seen them, the word on the street is that Santana keeps razor blades in her hair, and Rachel would rather not be the first person to find out if this rumor bears any truth.

Santana sits down now, in the chair across from Rachel, her lips pursed before she sighs exasperatedly, eyes softening, and lays a hand on top of Rachel's.

"Look, Rach," she starts, "I know we're friends and all, but... I don't think this roommate thing is working out."

Rachel can hardly breathe. She can't believe her good luck. Santana is on the same page! They can't destroy their friendship over some stupid boy and sex, and Santana understands so she's going to offer to move out and Rachel will find some new, sweet roommate who doesn't have sex at obscene hours and who is considerate and will understand Rachel's need for an audience and appreciation and constant compliments to build her self-esteem and self-worth for her rise to stardom! But wait, Santana's still talking and it doesn't seem that she's saying what Rachel thought she was—

"Rachel, I think you and I both know what this means. You need to move out."

Wait. This is _not _what Rachel was thinking at all.

* * *

><p>Which brings her to now.<p>

Currently, Rachel is sitting across from her sympathetic best friend—well gay best friend—Kurt Hummel, her voice still shrilly and disgruntled.

"Can you believe the _audacity _of that girl?" Rachel asks, her eyes searching for sympathy, as she waves her hands frantically around in the air. The waving doesn't really do anything, but it makes her feel better.

"Rachel, she's your best friend," Kurt says calmly, after taking a sip of his coffee. He breaks part of his biscotti and dips it into his coffee before popping it into his mouth, and studies Rachel with his clear green-blue eyes.

"Not _anymore!_" Rachel spits out, obviously still bitter about the unfortunate circumstances that graced her this morning. "Best friends do _not _bring stinky, sweaty boys home to have sex with them for hours at a time without any consideration for their best friend; best friends do _not _ignore their best friends' feelings and requests for just a minute of silence, and best friends do _not _tell their best friends to move out and find a place for themselves." She rips a piece off of her croissant and shoves it into her mouth angrily, her eyes still shining venomously.

"Rachel, you knew things were going to change once she got her boob job," Kurt says practically, running his hand through his chestnut-colored hair, "the things are watermelons popping out of her shirt! With her rack, she practically rivals Katy Perry and I've heard that Victoria's Secret tried to scout her as a model—you can't blame the boys for noticing and for her _liking _the attention. Just because you don't have the same goods," he gestures at Rachel's small darts of breasts which are covered by a grey sweater with a black cat wearing a white bow, "doesn't mean that Santana is going to slow down to wait for you to catch up."

This conversation is _not _going the way Rachel wants it to at all.

"_Kurt!_" she whines sharply, slamming her coffee cup down on the table. Some drips dribble out of the lid as she crosses her arms protectively against her small chest. "Can't you just be a good friend and pretend you sympathize with me and my plight in the slightest?"

"Well, I actually do," Kurt studies his fingernails before meeting Rachel's eyes. "I understand your desolation and your dire circumstances. Blaine and I have had roommate problems as well."

"I thought you were getting a house?" Rachel asks, her eyebrows lifting skeptically. "Don't you already have all the guys you're living with?"

"Wes—you know him, Blaine's friend, the Asian guy with the short hair—cancelled on us. Very last minute." Kurt hums in disapproval, shaking his head. "So now we're one boarder short and if we don't get another one, everybody's fee is going to increase by two hundred and they're not going to be happy about it, which means that I'll have to hear about it and Blaine will be even more stressed and upset than usual."

Rachel's eyes soften in pity and she bites her lip slightly. "Can't you just put up an ad somewhere?"

"Oh, if only," Kurt answers wistfully, "that would be so easy. But we can't just do that because I go through an extensive interview process with all of my prospective housemates; we can't just choose _anybody_. It's very important to Blaine, and to me, that our housemates are supporters. You know how the world is not full of people who are willing to see two boys kiss and not visibly flinch like they're seeing a kitten being strangled."

Rachel contemplates this last fact. Kurt's right, she knows. Having two fathers herself, she knows about the prejudices and injustice of the world (on a much larger scale than her skank of a roommate/best friend, no make that _ex-_best friend).

"But every one else?" she says, trying to lighten the mood. "You have every one else?"

"Yes," Kurt says, "seven of us have signed on, but we need one more to make it an even eight people to fill the house. And since Wes bailed on us, we don't have eight and the company won't let us sign the lease—unless we're willing to all pay more, but we're not. Ugh," he mutters, "things are so complicated."

"...And the alternative of this house is?" Rachel asks carefully, knowing that she's treading on dangerous territory.

"The alternative to getting this house is to live in regular college housing with homophobic jocks who will make my life—and Blaine's—a living hell," Kurt wails miserably, now kneading his head with his hands. His face visibly pales at the thought, "you saw how it was last year!"

"Kurt," Rachel replies calmly, "I am quite sure that the fact that you were placed with that big hairy Neanderthal, Karofsky, and the fact that Blaine was placed with that ultra-conservative Christian who blatantly tried to convince Blaine that he was straight all year was just a fluke and I am certain that after all of the conflicts you and Blaine caused and the complaints that you two filed will ensure that the college will _not _room you two with incompatible people again."

"But you don't _know _that!" Kurt looks visibly sicker by the second, and Rachel is beginning to wonder if there was something bad in his coffee. He looks like he's about to vomit. "You should have seen the application process that I made the boys go through. A quarter of the question list on cleanliness, sleeping habits, the regular college stuff, and then three quarters of it were on how they would react to two boys holding hands, kissing, making out, engaging in sexual inter—"

"Please stop," Rachel interrupts, "I get the idea, Kurt. I do not need to visually picture you and your boyfriend surrendering to your hormones."

"Ngh." Kurt makes an indistinguishable noise and nearly starts banging his head on the coffee table.

Rachel fights the urge to roll her eyes. And they say _she's _over-dramatic.

Rachel taps her fingers against the table. "Well you only have to find one more boy. And if you've found seven, I'm sure it won't be a problem. At least you have a decent place to live! If I'm trying to find a place this late, since Santana decided she wanted to use our apartment as a playpen to fulfill all of her sexual fantasies, I don't even know where to start looking and I'll probably have to live somewhere very far off-campus and I'll get mugged some dark night walking back," she sighs, just picturing her dark fate. She then proceeds to make a noise very similar to Kurt's noise and hides her face in her hands.

There's a silence as the two friends sit with _woe is me _expressions filling their faces. The coffee barista looks a little concerned.

"_Wait!_" Kurt's voice suddenly breaks the quiet, and Rachel looks up at him. His blue eyes are bright with a new vitality and his face has lit up like a lightbulb has gone off. "I have an idea!"

Rachel doesn't think she likes the idea of where this is going. She starts processing the many, wild ideas that Kurt could possibly have and her mind lands on one. Oh _no..._

But her wicked friend continues, delight riding every one of his features.

"Rachel, how would you like to play Snow White?"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: And end. I hope you understand where this story is going. I decided to make Santana and Rachel-a very unlikely pair-best friends and roommates, so opinions on that? And Kurtchel friendship is too cute to deny! Anyway, if you would like this to be updated and the introduction of the boys and Finchel fluff and Klaine hysteria, please kindly leave me a review and your opinions.

By the way, these are some of the titles for this story I entertained-

_Crappily Ever After_

_Rachel Berry and the Seven, Socially Inept College Boys _(yes, I know... not good)

_Ho White and the Seven Whores _(but then I just realized I was being clever and not relating to the story in the slightest... because if the boys are socially retarded, how can they be whores and how can Rachel be a ho if she wears kitty cat sweaters?)

But anyways, this story is going to be an extremely cracked up version of _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. _Honestly, I should get more sleep.

Review please?

-strawberryfinn


	2. of socially inept men

**Author's Note**: Gahhhh this story is so fun to write! I couldn't help but update before I leave (in 2 days ngghhhhhh). I'll be gone for a month so no updates (unless I get Internet access there!) In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I have to offer all my thanks to **_civillove _**and **_monroeslittle _**for guiding me in my writing of this story. So thank you, thank you, thank you.

And thank you to anybody who reviewed/alerted/favorited this story. Mainly to those of you who reviewed :) I really appreciated hearing from you.

**Summary**: All Rachel wants to do is survive college and become a star, but now she's living in a messed up fairy tale with seven, socially inept boys, who are proving to be quite the distraction. Finchel, Klaine AU

**Warnings**: sexual content, language, possible self-harm, abuse, attempted rape

**Rating**: M (to be safe)

**Genre**: Romance/Humor/Drama

**Pairings**: Finn/Rachel (Finchel), Kurt/Blaine (Klaine), Tina/Mike (Tike), Quinn/Puck (Quick), and so on and so forth as my wicked mind plots away

* * *

><p><strong>Crackedly Ever After<strong>

(and the title grows on me?)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

_of socially inept men_

_Dearest Rachel, how would you like to play Snow White?_

Kurt's words leer in her mind as Rachel blinks, trying to process what her gay best friend has just said. "Excuse me?"

But Kurt is already miles ahead of her, his hands flailing in excitement, his expression animated as his eyes shine in delight (probably patting himself on his back and practically beaming with pride for his own _brilliant _idea). "Rachel! It will be perfect! I mean, you already know Blaine and you know me and Blaine and I know you're an ally because of your two fathers! You said it yourself that you'll have a hard time finding a place on your own on such a late notice, and if you live with us then you'll have a home, and we'll have a full contract!"

Rachel gapes at Kurt. She wonders if Kurt has lost his mind—if maybe his whacking his head against the table has caused him to lose a few too many brain cells or if maybe he accidentally swallowed Blaine's hair gel—and that is causing very, very faulty reasoning on his part. She resembles a goldfish as her mouth flops open and closed in disbelief, trying to formulate a logical reply in her head, while Kurt continues looking at her, glowing in his own self-admiration, like he's simultaneously discovered world peace and the meaning of life.

"Kurt!" she finally manages to utter, "Kurt Hummel, how could you even suggest such a thing? I am a _girl_ in case you haven't noticed for the past eight years you have known me!"

"Yes, I am perfectly aware that you're a girl," Kurt answers, not seeming to see the problem. He looks at her, bemused, as if _she's _the crazy one. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Kurt," Rachel says through gritted teeth. She really is trying to control her incredible urge to launch herself across the table and strangle said gay best friend. "You are living with six _boys_."

"Mhmm," Kurt nods, "_and..._?"

He looks at her expectantly, and when she doesn't answer, he sighs exasperatedly. "Oh Rachel, it's time to grow up. You need to be mature about this. People everywhere have opposite sex roommates. We're not living in the Dark Ages; this is the twenty-first century in case you haven't noticed. Mature adult males and females room together all of the time." Kurt's tone makes it sound like he's talking to a five-year-old child much rather than a almost-twenty-year-old college sophomore.

"Kurt," Rachel says, struggling to keep her voice calm and keep from bursting into a tantrum that would be appropriate for Kurt's tone of voice, "in case _you _haven't noticed, you are not asking me to live with one boy. You are not asking me to live with you, which I would not have the slightest problem doing. I wouldn't even have a problem living with you and _Blaine! _But you are asking me to live with not one, not two, but _seven _boys. And I know that you and Blaine are gay and have no interest in me at all, but what about the other _five?_ There are _five _boys that I have never met and you are going to have me move inwith them?"

"Oh, shush," Kurt hushes her, rolling his eyes. "Rachel, I assure you that none of my new housemates have any interest whatsoever in your nonexistent lady parts."

"Hey!" Rachel retorts sharply. It is one thing for her to complain that she is flat-chested, but it is another thing for Kurt to deny her lack of sexual appeal altogether. "I will have you know that I am a grown _woman-_"

"Exactly," Kurt buts in, "and that is why I am expecting you, Miss Rachel Berry, to be mature enough to—after we're done here, of course—go back to the apartment you share with that vile, fire-breathing bitch of a roommate, to pack up all of your belongings, and to show up at 3:00 sharp today so we can sign the damn contract. The address is 321 Drury Lane, around seven minutes walking away from campus. And then you are going to be a big girl, move in, and have an incredible year."

Rachel blanches as she registers the street name. "Did you just say Drury Lane? Like where the Muffin Man lives?"

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," Kurt replies curtly (no pun intended), but there's no denying the slight reddening of his ears. "Now hurry along and finish your coffee, and I'll see you at three."

"But-"

"No exceptions, dearest."

And with that, Kurt stands up and walks away a blustering, flustered Rachel Berry.

* * *

><p>Rachel's first thought after Kurt's departure is that there is no way on earth her fathers will allow this, and since they are paying for her college housing, she will be saved from the horrendous fate of having to live with seven filthy, inappropriate, and hormonal boys (she is not going to even give them the benefit of the doubt). <em>Hmmph<em>ing to herself, she hurriedly dials her Dad's number. When the ringing heads straight to voicemail, she proceeds to call Daddy, who, fortunately, answers.

"Rachel, sugar, what's the matter, princess? Is there anything wrong? Do you need me to come? I can get a plane ticket asap, no worries-" comes Daddy's voice, full of anxiety. Rachel can picture him on the other end, forehead furrowed in distress and eyes alight with worry.

"No, Daddy," Rachel interrupts him. "Everything is fine. Except," she hears an audible intake of breath from Daddy's end, "Santana decided to kick me out. _And_," she stresses this word to indicate that she's not done speaking so Daddy doesn't barge in and start ranting and cursing and complaining that Rachel should have listened to him because Daddy knew Santana was satanic devil spawn and how he never, _ever_ liked her, "I think it's for the better, but right now I don't have a place to live."

"Oh, honey." Daddy's voice is sympathetic, and Rachel wishes he was there to envelop her in a warm embrace (except she really doesn't because she is an independent college sophomore,_damn it_, and she can take care of herself). "Is there anyone else you can live with? Kurt, maybe?"

Rachel looks around over each shoulder suspiciously, wondering if for some reason Kurt hasn't really left and he's still there and is whispering to Rachel's father without her noticing. But Kurt is not there, and her dad is waiting for an reply, so she takes a steady breath and answers.

"Actually, Daddy, that is what I was calling you to talk about. Kurt wants me to live with him and Blaine and five other _boys,_" she stresses the last word, closing her eyes and holding her phone inches away from her ear to wait for her dad's outburst. She expects his rampage to come out, his demands about _who does Kurt Hummel think he is? I am not going to let my darling, precious only child Rachel live in a house dominated with testosterone!_

But there's no explosion.

Instead, Daddy hesitates. "Hmm." Rachel can picture him on the other end, looking thoughtful upwards as he processes the newly divulged information.

"Yes, Daddy?" Rachel is still awaiting Daddy's eruption of noisy disbelief. Maybe the news is so shocking that it is taking him longer than expected to react.

"Honey, I think that is a great idea," Daddy finally says. He sounds relieved. "Kurt is a good friend and I'm sure that he and his boyfriend—what's his name, Shane?—will take good care of you."

"Dad!" Rachel yelps indignantly. "What about the five_other _boys?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about them. They probably won't be interested in a girl like you. You're too," Daddy pauses to search for the word, "_ambitious. _And, Rachel, I trust you, sweetheart, and I know you will behave appropriately and respectably. Also, your having a bunch of boys to watch your back makes me feel so much better about your safety. You know how I worry about you, darling."

Rachel splutters in a mixture of surprise and offense. She doesn't know if she should be happy that her father trusts her enough to let her live with seven sacks of testosterone or offended that even her dad thinks she completely lacks all the qualities necessary to make her attractive to the opposite sex.

"I love you too, honey," Daddy says cheerfully, apparently not recognizing his daughter's distress. "I'll talk to you soon and Dad and I will call you later to see how everything's working out!" He hangs up, leaving Rachel stranded and desperate and slowly trying to adjust to the idea that _holy crap this is actually happening._

So much for _that _plan.

* * *

><p>So now here she is.<p>

Rachel struggles with her two massive, black suitcases which are printed with a series of gold stars. (Kurt once described the suitcases as torture chambers that imprisoned Rachel's clothes—and thank the Lord because those clothes were too ugly to ever be forced upon the innocent public). She's sorely convinced that her arms are about to break from the weight any second, and is a bit put off that nobody has noticed her arrival and that nobody is offering to help her.

With a frustrated groan, she decides to just leave the suitcases on the lawn, and then goes to join Kurt who's standing near and talking to a balding Indian man holding a clipboard.

"Kurt," she says brightly, but Kurt waves a hand impatiently at her, indicating that he's busy.

"Mr. Figgins, what do you mean 'additional fee?'" Kurt's voice is getting shrilly, and Rachel decides to leave him be. Kurt is good at bargaining with prices and the whole payment deal; Rachel's already done Kurt a favor today and she doesn't feel the need to get involved in more problems.

"Rachel!"

Rachel turns to see who spoke, and she sees a boy with chocolate-colored curls, expressive eyebrows, and a wide, bright smile. The boy bounds toward her and envelops her in a big, friendly hug.

"Blaine!" she greets in return. She has always liked Blaine, even when the only impression she had of him was from Kurt's rants about an incredibly sweet, chivalrous gentleman who knew his coffee order. Anybody who makes Kurt that happy is good in her book (and trust her, there are not a lot of people who have the privilege of being in that book). "How are you?"

"I've been great." Blaine smiles easily, as he releases Rachel from his embrace. His grin fills up his entire face and his hazel eyes are alight with excitement. "Thanks so much Rachel, for this."

"It wasn't a problem at all," Rachel replies, lying through her teeth, "and besides, it's not like I really had a choice, did I?"

Her expression is grim as she remembers how when she returned to the apartment, Santana had already haphazardly boxed all of Rachel's toiletries and dishes and some of her clothes forher.

Blaine looks worried, as if he's afraid Rachel is on the verge of a mental breakdown (his concerns are sadly not unfounded). He places a hand on her shoulder in a supposedly comforting gesture. "It's going to be great."

Rachel doesn't answer, but she stiffens in apprehension. Yeah, it will be great for Blaine, but not for her so much.

As if he understands what she's thinking, Blaine suddenly takes her by the hand. "Come on, let's meet everyone!"

In spite of Rachel's protests, Blaine stands her up in front of the row of boys waiting for Kurt to finish working out the kinks with the landlord.

"Guys!" Blaine claps his hands together twice to get the boys' attention. "Guys, this is Rachel. She's Kurt's best friend and she's going to be living with us."

The boys look up interestedly, most of them looking Rachel up and down. She crosses her arms in discomfort, watching them take in her grey cat sweater, her short, black skirt, and her grey and white polka-dotted legwarmers.

"Rach," Blaine gestures to the first boy, "this is Artie. Abrams. Artie Abrams."

Artie Abrams is a bespectacled boy with dark brown hair and kind, blue eyes. He's wearing a checkered sweater vest on top of a polo, and khaki pants, and he's in a wheelchair. Well that should be easy enough to remember, thinks Rachel, as she shakes his hand.

"Nice meeting you," Artie says, his eyes lingering on hers.

Rachel doesn't answer but purses her lips and nods tersely. It's not going to be nice meeting anybody until she's figured out all of their personalities. First impressions, though important, are not everything.

"Yeah, and Rachel, this is Noah Puckerman," Blaine gestures to the kid standing next to Artie.

Rachel studies the boy—no, the _man—_in front of her. Noah Puckerman has dark brown hair styled into a mohawk and smoldering, deep-set hazel eyes. His shirt is on, but there's no mistaking the ripple of muscle underneath. He gives her a wolfish, almost predatory smirk.

"It's Puck," he tells Rachel, "I go by Puck. Say, are you Jewish?"

Rachel's a little taken aback, but she nods yes.

Puck smiles, explaining, "It's the nose—that's how I could tell. And I'm Jewish too." He extends his hand to shake hers. "One hot Jew to another," Puck says, completely serious, as he runs his free hand through his dark hair, "we need to stick together."

Rachel doesn't know whether to be offended that he called her religious background based on her physical appearance, or flattered that he called her _hot _and has decided to bond over their similar connection with God.

"Maybe we can, you know, get together later on and... religiously _connect_, if you know what I mean," Puck says, a sly tone creeping into his voice.

Rachel immediately retracts her hand as Blaine starts lecturing Puck, ("Puck! You know we all promised Kurt that we weren't going to make her uncomfortable!" and Puck's reply, "Oh, I'm just helping her fit in, you know?" to Blaine's blustering, "Getting into her pants is not helping her fit in!" and Puck's retort, "Oh shut up, hobbit. You know you would love for me to be in your pants!" and Blaine's horrified, "No I wouldn't! You know I only let Kurt do—oh _shit,_" followed by Blaine's flaming face and Puck's chortle of laughter, "Yeah, Porcelain's gettin' some alright!")

Rachel decides to meet the next boy without Blaine's help.

"I'm Rachel," she introduces herself to a lanky, thin boy with short black hair and bashful brown eyes, wearing a striped cardigan atop of a t-shirt.

"Mike," the boy says, his voice barely audible, "Mike Chang." He is all limbs, and they flail out from him like octopus's arms, and he's quiet, but he seems nice enough. He doesn't meet her eyes with his gaze but continues looking at the floor, painfully shy.

And then there's the last boy Rachel hasn't met, standing there, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He's dressed in a frayed red t-shirt with grey lining, and has feathery white-blonde hair, and very full lips—or just a big mouth in general, Rachel thinks, as she scrutinizes him.

"Rachel," Rachel says, extending a hand, "Rachel Berry."

"Kaltxì peyral Sam," the tall boy replies, the words trembling on those hug lips of his, as he takes her hand, "Prrte'." **(1)**

Rachel pulls her hand away like she's just been burned. "What did you say?" Kurt did _not _mention anything about a foreign exchange student, and those foreign boys are completely another _ballpark._ She can't even figure out normal college boys—now there's some new boy from a country where she doesn't even recognize the language?

"Sam!" comes Kurt's annoyed voice. He sounds weary. "Guys, I told you to leave her alone. And Sam, Na'vi is _not_ a good way to make a first impression." He scolds Sam thoroughly and the whole time Sam stands there and looks pathetic with his long hair drooping over his forehead.

Rachel's mind is whirling. Kurt and Blaine, she can handle, but these boys? These five other boys that have failed to impart good impressions (in Noah's and Sam's cases) or any impression whatsoever (Artie and Mike). These five boys—oh wait, there's only four...

Wait, there's only six of the boys in total, including Kurt and Blaine, rather than the seven Kurt has advertised. She runs through the boys again in her head. The boy with the glasses in the wheelchair; the tall, mean looking boy with the mohawk; the tall, skinny Asian boy who looks like he'll piss his pants if you look at him for too long; the big-lipped blonde boy with floppy hair; and then of course, Kurt and Blaine.

"Where's the other guy?" she asks pointedly, not addressing any specific person. "Aren't there eight of us in all?"

"Hudson is flying in tomorrow," Puck says off-handedly, shrugging disinterestedly, "couldn't make it earlier—flight got delayed or something."

"Are you friends with him then?" Rachel asks, her eyes wary. She doesn't like the way Puck is looking her up and down like she's a piece of meat.

"Finn's my boy," Puck answers, "we've got each other's backs."

Rachel makes a mental note to stay away from this Finn Hudson—anybody who willingly associates with Noah Puckerman cannot be good. Her thinking is disrupted by a flustered Kurt (accompanied by a baffled Mr. Figgins), who thrusts a clipboard and pen at her and orders her to sign so they can "get in the damn house and unload their belongings and choose their rooms already."

Mr. Figgins looks at her, his expression disapproving.

"You're living with all these boys?" he asks, his thick Indian accent shining through. He looks so horrified that the whites of his eyes nearly show.

"Don't worry," Kurt says impatiently, waving his hand in Mr. Figgin's face, "Rachel's from a very orthodox branch of Judaism and if she engages in any premarital sexual intercourse or other activity, her vagina will grow teeth and chomp off her partner's penis and she will be forever exiled from society and her synagogue."

Mr. Figgins nearly chokes at that revelation and looks nervously down at his own groin. Rachel is about to open her mouth and demand that Kurt but out of her business and stop answering for her and making up ridiculous stories, but he gives her a grave look that says, _I have been through so much during this morning and all I want to do is sleep so please just let it go_. Rachel's so emotionally drawn that she accepts the pen.

With a withering sigh, she signs.

And with that, her fate is sealed.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: MEHHHEHEHHEHE. And Finn still continues to elude Rachel. But there is so much good stuff coming up!

I realized the title may be okay by me. If I do decide to change it, I'll let you know (or rather this website will let you know lol).

GAH. Gone for a month. Please, please, please review if you'd like an update! :)

And thank you again to both **_civillove _**and **_monroeslittle _**(both incredible writers)

OH, and-

**(1)** Translation: "My name is Sam." "Pleasure." At least that's what it said on a Na'vi translation site. Sorry if that isn't correct!

-strawberryfinn


	3. of bedrooms, bathrooms, & vegan dishes

**Author's Note**: LULZ. I'm at my layover in Amsterdam now so ALMOST home! And decided to give you guys an update! Please keep reviewing-I love hearing from you!

And thank you to anybody who reviewed/alerted/favorited this story. Mainly to those of you who reviewed :) REVIEWS ARE GREAT!

**Summary**: All Rachel wants to do is survive college and become a star, but now she's living in a messed up fairy tale with seven, socially inept boys, who are proving to be quite the distraction. Finchel, Klaine AU

**Warnings**: sexual content, language, possible self-harm, abuse, attempted rape

**Rating**: M (to be safe)

**Genre**: Romance/Humor/Drama

**Pairings**: Finn/Rachel (Finchel), Kurt/Blaine (Klaine), Tina/Mike (Tike), Quinn/Puck (Quick), and so on and so forth as my wicked mind plots away

* * *

><p><strong>Crackedly Ever After<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

_of bedrooms, bathrooms, and vegan dishes_

"We're finally living _together!_" Kurt says happily, nearly giddy with excitement. His bitterness and exhaustion seem to have vanished the second Rachel finished signing the form. He wraps his arms around Blaine's neck and practically _squeezes _him, planting a large, mushy kiss on Blaine's cheek.

Blaine just laughs in reply, his eyes dancing with delight. He turns around and places his hands gently on Kurt's waist, crashing his lips against Kurt's with an unexpected force and power. He's shorter than Kurt, but straddles Kurt regardless, and in less than thirty seconds, said chaste kiss on the cheek has become full-blown make out session, complete with tongue, closed eyes, and throaty, moaning noises.

The other boys, Rachel decides as she analyzes all of their reactions to Kurt and Blaine's PDA, just stand there. Mike looks a little uncomfortable, shifting his weight from foot to foot, but then again, he's looked uncomfortable for the last ten minutes. Puck groans and rolls his eyes, but it's in a friendly, annoyed way, rather than a I-am-going-to-beat-the-shit-out-of-you-for-being-a-flaming-gay way. Artie looks at the floor and Sam just grins and mutters something in a strange (and most likely fictional) language. Yep, they may all be completely socially retarded, but they are not homophobic.

Rachel heads over to her bedazzled suitcases and pulls them up by the handles, and starts dragging them toward the house. Fortunately, Mike sees her struggling with the suitcases that are probably double her size, and graciously (though silently) takes them for her, rolling them toward the house's front door. (Okay, maybe _he's_ not socially incompetent). Rachel stands on the lawn and really looks at the house for the first time.

It's... quaint. The house is a rich, Carolina blue color with white trims (well, off-white—almost a dirty white, really) and a pointed roof. It has a white porch (yes, really, a porch) complete with a worn-out couch, and an off-white door. Rachel knew there was no way that Kurt would even entertain the idea of living in a dilapidated, run-down house by any means, but she's surprised that he managed to convince five (she's thinking straight?) boys to live in such a storybook-looking place.

She hears a grunt and turns to see the silent Mike suffering under the weight of her suitcases. He's almost huffing and puffing with the effort and his face is reddening with the effort.

"Mike!" she says, running up to him, "You don't need to take my bags—I can do it."

With a silent shake of his head, he signals her "no" and continues lugging her bags up into the house. Rachel feels slightly guilty for the labor she's forcing him to do, but luckily Sam comes out and gives Mike a hand. Puck is long gone, already having run into the house to call shotgun on a room (in spite of Artie's protests that, "Puck, you can't call shotgun on a bedroom," and Puck's retort of "Just watch me, Wheelie.")

Rachel leaves Mike and Sam lifting her bags, even though she feels very guilty doing so (but she is also slightly happy that chivalry is not dead and that at least some boys are recognizing that she is a lady, damn it). She enters the house, her eyes widening as she walks in.

It's a lot nicer than she expected, let's just give it that. It's a two-story house with a narrow walkway leading to an open kitchen (thankfully equipped with a wooden table) and a family room (with a couch that has cotton spilling from the cushions). The ceilings are high and though some of the paint on the stairway banisters and walls is peeling, it's nothing that can't be easily fixed with some whitewash. Rachel walks around downstairs while the boys whoop and run upstairs, claiming rooms.

She finds a small bedroom, then, adjacent to the tiny laundry room. This, Rachel decides, will be her room. It is small, but not overwhelmingly tiny, and it has a twin-sized bed and a window with a sill big enough to put a flowerpot on (and Rachel plans on brightening up and feminizing this testosterone-flooded house if it's the last thing she does). And, this bed is downstairs, away from all those strange boys Kurt has interviewed (because though they passed the interview, she reminds herself, they aren't Kurt's—or her—friends). She rolls back the blinds of the window letting the light flood in, sits down on the bed, and gazes up around her.

There's a squeaky noise, and Rachel turns to see Artie, who has rolled into the bedroom.

"Rachel," Artie says, his voice full of a finality and authority uncharacteristic of his nerdy, academic appearance, "This is my room."

"What?" Rachel begins protesting, getting off the bed and standing to her full five foot two stature (okay, that seemed a little more intimidating in her head—though she still towers above Artie from his sedentary position). "No, Artie, I got into this room first, and I am taking it! I've had enough of all of you boys and as the only female in the house, I think it's only acceptable and just that I get the first choice! What happened to 'ladies first?' Is chivalry really dead? You boys are so inconsiderate," her voice is climbing onto higher and higher levels as her indignation increases to nearly bursting point, "and I have had _enough!_ I demand this bedroom and I am taking it, no matter _what _you try to say! I don't care that I have just met you today and I don't care about ruining my first impression with you! I need a room where I can focus on my studies and practice my singing so that this year will not do anything to damage my plans for stardom in the slightest!"

Rachel finishes, breathing dramatically. Her heart is racing from the exhilaration, and now that she's done, she down at Artie with a triumphant, _so there _expression.

Artie blinks at her behind his thick glasses. "Rachel, I'm really sorry but this is the only room I can get to." He gestures to the wheels on his chair. "I'm not exactly... _mobile_ and my chair isn't so stairs-friendly, if you get what I mean."

Well _shit. _She can't argue with that.

* * *

><p>After fumbling an apology to Artie, Rachel rushes upstairs as quickly as her small legs can take her, intent on if not getting the best room, at least the second best room. To her dismay, all of the larger rooms have been taken, except for the two at the end of the hall.<p>

She walks into one of the rooms and detects the scent of mold. Well this is just freaking dandy.

She wonders, for a second, how much of a bitch she would be to go and steal the room from Artie. Shaking herself out of that thought (she can't bring herself to take advantage of a cripple), she tries the other room.

She'll have to go with this one.

It's nowhere as nice as Artie's room downstairs, but it's almost the same, if just a little smaller. The paint on the walls is peeling (nothing a good paint job can't fix or some wallpaper), but at least there's no smell of mold and mothballs. There's a closet in the corner of the room and a twin-sized bed. She wonders idly where she'll be doing her homework since there's no desk, but if she's going to live here, she plans on staying at the library as much as possible.

"RACHEL CHOSE HER ROOM!" a yelp comes from down the hallway, and then all of the boys (minus Artie, Kurt, and Blaine) are pressed up against the door, their faces filling her doorway.

"Guess I'll know which room to check in after she's done with the shower," comes Puck's leering, flirty voice, and Rachel flinches.

Oh crap. The bathroom.

She didn't even think about this.

"How many bathrooms are there?" Rachel asks, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

"Just one," Puck's voice leers, "for us _all_ to share."

Every little single fiber of remaining self-dignity and sexual confidence has now gone down the drain. Rachel blanches, eyes wide and face pale, and promptly bursts into tears.

* * *

><p>It doesn't make sense at all, Rachel thinks, that there's only one bathroom. What on earth is Artie supposed to do from downstairs? (Blaine had muttered something about crossing that bridge when the time came as he and Kurt rubbed soothing circles on Rachel's back after her emotional crisis. Resident gay boys were rudely interrupted from their make-out session by a hysterical and nearly terrified Mike Chang, who started babbling that their aid was needed because Rachel was dying—which, of course, turned out <em>not <em>to be true to Blaine's relief and Kurt's consecutive annoyance at having been interrupted).

"And I'm a _girl!_" Rachel's voice is shrilly as she wails and prepares for a new onslaught of tears.

"Shhh, it's okay," Blaine soothes, patting Rachel's shoulder gently, "it will be _fine._"

"Rachel, calm yourself," Kurt chastises didactically. "Take in deep breaths like you do in yoga. It is _not _a big deal."

"Where is my _privacy?_" Rachel demands, bordering on near hysteria. "How is this okay?"

"We'll just schedule times that only you are in the bathroom," Kurt asserts evenly, calmly running his fingers through his perfectly coifed hair while Blaine looks on in adoration, "and those times will be off-limits to the guys. We can even get a whiteboard and you can write your name when you're using the bathroom."

(These complications all arise because the bathroom door doesn't lock—Mr. Figgins promises he'll have a locksmith in soon—but to avoid complications and crises and emotional hysteria at the current moment, Kurt is suggesting the following solution).

Rachel thinks this over. She's really trying to be rational, can't Kurt understand that? She's been more than a good friend—she has been a near saint, putting up with all these ridiculous demands and ideas (perhaps it's time to invest in both a new best friend as Santana has been kicked out of that department and also a new gay best friend, because Kurt hasn't been doing such a good job—Blaine could totally replace Kurt). But she is a lady, and girls are _fragile_ and her ego has been bruised enough today as it is, so she deserves to have some of her demands met.

"Fine," she says primly, almost sharply. "But I expect a _vegan _meal tonight. And I am not doing the dishes."

Kurt rolls his eyes, probably processing the thought that Rachel is an insufferable prima donna, but Blaine nods eagerly in agreement (most likely thrilled at the fact that Rachel is no longer screeching and that now he can get back to making out with Kurt).

"No problem, Rachel," Blaine rushes, trying to soothe Rachel (really, Blaine would be such a better gay best friend than that demanding, irritating Kurt Hummel). "Vegan meal coming up."

* * *

><p>And so Rachel finds herself seated at a the head of a table with six boys crowding around in other mismatched chairs. The table is designed to only seat six and in the short time that the six hoodlums and Rachel have been there, the delinquent Puck has already managed to break two chairs, much to Kurt's disdain. The table is slightly too high for Artie's chair, so his bespectacled eyes peek over the edge of the table, but Rachel can't see much of him from where she's perched on her stool. Mike has haphazardly set the table with mismatched green, yellow, pink, and blue plastic plates (he mutters something about how these were the only dishes he managed to get at a garage sale and how they're all lucky he even thought to bring plates) and nonuniform forks and knives. Their cups range from mugs to shot glasses (Puck's of course) to plastic to-go cups to Rachel's glass decorated with a lone gold star. Sam's <em>Star Wars <em>tablecloth is draped over the wooden table, so that the vegan dish (prepared by Blaine—this should be interesting), is placed smack dab in the middle of Chewbacca's face and another platter with a massive greasy, oily, cheesy, dripping pizza bedazzled with pepperonis, sausage, bacon, and chicken (well, the boys certainly aren't missing out on their protein) covers Darth Vader's torso.

Kurt hums a rather annoyed, irritated note, so Rachel expects that the plates will probably be matching soon (with coordinated cups as well), if Kurt Hummel has any choice at interior decorating. But for now, this will just have to do.

"What the hell is that rabbit food? Blaine, what is this shit?" comes Puck's voice, laced with disgust as he pokes a finger at the vegan dish. He snatches a piece from the pizza UFO—and, carefully picking out the bacon (okay, so he may disregard any other kosher rules, but apparently even bacon is sacrilegious for him—shoves it wolfishly into his mouth.

Rachel flinches. "Noah, please don't talk to Blaine like that. Blaine, what did you prepare?" She cuts herself a small piece of the vegan tortilla-like substance.

"I found the recipe in _Food and Wine Magazine,_" Blaine explains himself almost apologetically. "I'm not sure how good it will be so I'm sorry if it tastes like crap, but I tried really hard and-"

"Blaine, it's delicious," Rachel says, and she's being honest. She gives Blaine a small smile, which makes him practically beam in delight, especially when Kurt kisses him on the cheek and laces his hand into Blaine's.

Blaine has prepared a tortilla with chopped, grilled grapes, brown sugar and drizzled olive oil. Some basil also is scattered through the vegan pizza-like creation, and Rachel has to admit—Blaine is a pretty good cook. She could get used to this, easily. (Honestly, Blaine is more than a strong contender for gay best friend replacement).

"Thanks," Blaine nods easily, helping himself to both a piece of the carnivore's paradise and the nicknamed "rabbit food." Kurt looks a little horrified at the fact that Blaine is eating the greasy pizza, but Blaine just hums in his easygoing way and takes a bite.

The other boys waste no time loading their plates up with food—most of them opting for the delivered pizza, with only Kurt and surprisingly _Sam_ choosing the vegan option (he hurriedly mutters something about his abs, which Rachel thinks are probably fictional abs in his own mind until she notices that he does have a ripple of muscle—heavily disguised under his _Star Trek _shirt). Dinner is surprisingly uneventful—with the exception of Puck spilling his beer all over Artie's lap (and pizza) and causing a disturbance as Mike has to lift Artie up the stairs to use the bathroom to clean up, and then Puck eating the beer-soaked pizza and claiming, "Guys, this is really good—it's like... _beer_za or something!" Of course this means that all of the other boys have to pour beer on their pizza and eat it like starving, wild animals while Rachel looks on, completely revolted.

After dinner, (as should have been expected), none of the boys volunteer to do the dishes which means a stack of greasy, dirty plates are left haphazardly on the table, and Chewbacca's furry face is completed with piles of pepperonis while Darth Vader has pieces of bacon on his mask. Though none of the boys (with perhaps the exception of Kurt) seem to be fazed by the remaining filth, Rachel is, so she finds herself with the unfortunate task of clearing the table (luckily Sam comes in and grabs his tablecloth to put it in the laundry room), washing and drying the dishes, and putting the dishes in the respective cabinets. Unfortunately, one of the cabinet doors collapses to Rachel's indignation, and she starts screaming like a banshee which nearly gives poor Mike Chang (who is still cleaning up Artie from the beer spill) a heart attack and leads Kurt to get a splitting migraine. Blaine immediately starts to coddle Kurt and carries him up to their room where they proceed to have a very loud, throaty make out session (that may entail more—nobody really wants to check), and Puck to poke his head into the kitchen and demand that Rachel "Stop squealing like a dying cat. It's really not cool and totally not hot behavior at all."

This is going to be a long year.

* * *

><p>This shower is well-deserved and much needed, Rachel decides, as she shampoos her chocolate-colored hair. She hums her favorite <em>Chicago <em>song in pleasure as she feels the warm water spray down on her head. Yes, this is exactly what she needs after such a long day.

After she finishes conditioning her hair and rinsing her body clean from the lathered shaving cream and soap, she steps out of the shower, still dripping, and shivers slightly as her foot comes into contact with the cold tile. She reaches blindly for her towel with one hand as her other hand swipes water from her eyes, and her groping hand comes into contact with a soft, cotton fabric and then something smooth.

Immediately, she opens her eyes.

Her hand is laced into a grey t-shirt and the smooth surface is the skin—of a back. There's a surprised noise and the person whose back Rachel's touching with her dripping, cold wet hand turns around.

And there's a boy. Rachel's breath catches in her throat as she takes in his full, tall frame, his broad shoulders, his short, light brown hair that sticks up in clumps. Her big, brown eyes meet his startlingly handsome shining, brown eyes framed by shocked, arched eyebrows. A lopsided, easygoing smile drops naturally across his face.

But suddenly his smile turns into a gasp, and a hurried apology. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry," and the boy quickly turns around so that his back faces Rachel, as his ears burn bright red and a pink flush fills his cheeks.

Oh my God.

There's a boy.

In the bathroom.

With her.

And she's _naked_.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: Guess who decided to make an appearance? GAHHAHA :) Review for more!

-strawberryfinn


	4. of mailmen & gayfriendly songs

**Author's Note**: Hi my loyal readers! I've started my sophomore year of college now and so everything's been kind of busy. Updates may be a little slow but if you review it only motivates me more to keep writing! Please keep reading and reviewing :)

I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's a bit rambly and weird and filler, so if you have any comments on how to improve it, they would be much appreciated.

**Summary**: All Rachel wants to do is survive college and become a star, but now she's living in a messed up fairy tale with seven, socially inept boys, who are proving to be quite the distraction. Finchel, Klaine AU

**Warnings**: sexual content, language, possible self-harm, abuse, attempted rape

**Rating**: M (to be safe)

**Genre**: Romance/Humor/Drama

**Pairings**: Finn/Rachel (Finchel), Kurt/Blaine (Klaine), Tina/Mike (Tike), Quinn/Puck (Quick), and so on and so forth as my wicked mind plots away

* * *

><p><strong>Crackedly Ever After<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

_of mailmen and gay-friendly songs_

* * *

><p>Naturally, she screams.<p>

(In retrospect, Rachel will later say, this reaction was only reasonable and rational, if not completely expected. She was naked—bare butt-naked, not even with any sort of weekly labeled underwear and matching bralette on to cover up the remaining scraps of her dignity,—not to mention there was a hulking (though admittedly dashingly good-looking) boy—no, man—standing and gaping at her body. And Rachel knows that Kurt always makes fun of her "nonexistent lady parts" but any boy would have to be dim-witted and completely stupid (or perhaps gay or asexual or five years old) to not be turned on in the slightest by the sight of a naked girl standing in his close proximity).

So, Rachel screams.

She screams a loud, unnatural, high-pitched banshee-like cry that starts out with nonsensical gibberish words and then escalates into even pitchier actual words cursing and damning the poor (so far still anonymous) boy.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" screeches Rachel, grabbing her towel (which is thankfully nearby) and pulling it over her exposed body. She is really howling at the boy's back as he is still turned away from her, his ears flaming red as newly painted firetrucks with embarrassment, but she sees his shoulders stiffen in discomfort. He flinches with every word she utters, as if he's afraid she'll turn into a cat and start clawing his face (which may actually be a possibility), and she sees his hands clench so hard his knuckles turn white. (She rather resents his distress with the situation as _she _is the one without clothes on, after all. She is the victim here, let's not forget that).

When there is no verbal response from said perpetrator, Rachel proceeds to go even more berserk.

"Get out!" she demands, eyes wild and spit nearly flying from her mouth. "Get out! What are you still doing in here? You, you," she searches her mind frantically for a word that can sum up her distaste and disgust and horror at his Peeping Tom actions, "_pervert!_"

(In retrospect, Rachel will later admit, that word failed to impart the impact that she was hoping for, but at the time, she insists, she was _naked _and her vocabulary was failing. Surely you can understand that).

The boy turns to look at her, his eyes widening again as he realizes she is still naked, save the thin towel wrapped around her body.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry," he stammers, his brown eyes shining with mortification. "I-I.. uh..." his voice trails off as his eyes drop from Rachel's eyes to her (now, thankfully covered) breasts.

Rachel starts shrieking again as she realizes in her panic and shock and humiliation, she has allowed her towel to slip, making one of her supple (though tiny) breasts visible.

"Get _out!_" she cries, her voice now bordering on the edge of tears.

(Damn it, she _cannot _cry. Rachel Barbra Berry may be a drama queen and she can cry on command for theatrical purposes, but whiny, average crybaby she is _not, _thank you very much. Yes, she is perfectly aware that she has had quite a few meltdowns over the course of this past day, but this day has been an _exception. _Who wouldn't cry after having the day she has had?_)_

The boy covers up his ears to block out Rachel's howls and flees from the bathroom, his cheeks as red as the bows on the kittens that splatter Rachel's Hello Kitty towel. As he grabs the doorknob to let himself out into the hallway and escape from the ear-splitting screams, there's commotion at the door.

"Finn Hudson, what the _fuck _is going on here?" comes Kurt's shrill, pissed-off voice. "Honestly, are you _torturing _someone in there? Did you forget to mention in your application that you work part-time as a serial killer, because Blaine and I are at our wits' end with the house and the rent and all of the boarders, and we do _not _have time to deal with a murderer on top of everything."

Rachel takes this distraction and stores this new knowledge, (so this is Finn Hudson), to hurriedly pull on her panties and bra to scrap up the shattered remnants of her pride.

"Is someone dying?" Mike's careful, hesitant voice emerges from the commotion. "Because I took an EMT course and I might be able to help-"

"I'm an Eagle Scout," Rachel manages to place Artie's voice (which leads to her wondering how he got upstairs in his wheelchair, but that's beside the point), "just got my badge last year. I'm trained in emergency care-"

"I know some healing things from _Lord of the Rings _and _Harry Potter_," comes another reply. Rachel assumes it's Sam, based on the ridiculous level of enthusiasm for fictional, fantastical characters that the voice carries. "Not sure if they're the best bet, but if you guys run out of options on saving the victim's life then I'm here-"

By now, Rachel has managed to get fully dressed. Sure, her clothes are wet and sticking to her skin as she didn't want to waste time drying herself in case any of the boys decided to invite themselves into the bathroom and practice their medical healer skills (she decides that if she ever does get hurt, she would choose Mike to come to her rescue because as smart as Artie looks in his sweater vests, there's something about the whole wheelchair situation that might make things awkward and slower as she bleeds out or suffers from whatever inflicted injury, and as adorably nerdy as Sam seems, she wouldn't let him practice any of his Harry Potter spells within a ten foot radius of her).

"Nobody's dying!" There's an unfamiliar voice and Rachel realizes (as her stomach plummets with dread), that it's the new boy—Finn Hudson, she assumes—speaking. "I just walked in on some girl naked in the bathroom and now she's upset and going all ape-shit crazy on me."

There's awkward silence.

Uncomfortable, deafening silence, Rachel realizes with panic as she rearranges her pajama top (a light lavender shirt with dancing ballerina mice all over it. Also, on a side note, generally she doesn't wear bras before going to bed, but in a house of immature boys, bras are going to be a _must_).

"Dude, is there actually anything hot going on under those retarded five-year-old clothes?" comes an interested, sly voice. Noah, of course, and Rachel would like to let him know that her clothes are _not _for five-year olds. (Sure, she still shops in the juniors department, but that's only because those clothes are more suited for her body type). "Like, is she actually sexy or is she a Lollipop Girl—you know, no tits, no ass, no nothing except a big head that doesn't shut up?"

"Puck, you get your head out of the gutter!" an indignant Kurt puts in. (Rachel can see him now, white in anger as he spits words. She realizes that the reason he's so upset is that he was most likely interrupted from a make-out session with Blaine by her shrieking, but she tries to convince herself that he's really siding with her in this situation. Maybe her gay best friend is trying to redeem himself). "Rachel only agreed to living in this house because I promised her she would not be sexually harassed in the slightest-"

"Yeah guys, totally not cool," comes Blaine's protective voice, "leave Rachel alone." (Rachel decides to ignore the fact that Blaine is probably only standing up for her to earn brownie points with Kurt and decides, instead, to focus on the fact that Blaine is actually coming to her defense, and _honestly, _she really thinks he might make a good replacement for her sassy gay friend who has been a whiny, overdramatic drama king today).

"Well?" There's a sneer, and Rachel knows that Noah has completely disregarded what Kurt and Blaine have to say. "Come on, Hudson, you saw her naked—didn't you get turned on in the slightest or is she as sexually stimulating as a dead opossum on the side of the road?"

Rachel wants to curl up into a ball in fetal position and die (and she is not being dramatic this time at all). She finds herself terrified that Finn will tell Puck she's as hot as fly-covered roadkill. Honestly, the whole group of boys is sitting outside and talking about her sexual appeal? Evidently, even though Kurt is gay, he seems to be right that none of the boys in this house are the least bit interested in her. Which should be a relief, Rachel knows, but for some unknown reason, this revelation is also a little disappointing. Seriously, not _one_ boy finds her attractive in the slightest? (Well Kurt and Blaine are understandable, but anyone else? What about Puck? Didn't he want to do it with her before? ...Oh, wait. Kurt told her that Puck will have sex with anything on legs, so take away some points from him. Maybe he should meet Santana...)

Rachel is so deep in her perverse, disturbed thoughts that she nearly misses the next comment.

"Hey, leave her alone. I feel bad enough as it is. And... she's pretty cute, guys," comes the unfamiliar voice again. Finn. "Her boobs are kinda small, but she has a great butt. I," Finn continues, his voice sounding... rather sheepish? Bashful? Rachel's not sure. "I had to think of the mail."

"She's a mailman girl?" comes Puck's incredulous reply. "No, man, really, she is not a mailman-"

Rachel has heard quite enough. Finn thinks she looks like a mailman? He was on such a nice track by calling her "cute" and her butt "great," but he had to end it with a freaking mailman. Well she doesn't want to be with him _either, _thank you very much. He may be devastatingly handsome and shining eyes and an adorable splash of freckles on his cheekbones and he may have a great speaking voice—smooth and sweet as a brick of dark chocolate, but he is a Peeping Tom. A pervert! She doesn't want anything to do with him.

At least that's what she tells herself, as she marches out of the bathroom, clothes and makeup bag clutched in her hands and nose held high. She ignores the calls and whistles and chuckles (and attempted apology of that imbecile Finn Hudson) of her stupid housemates, making a big show about keeping her eyes focused on her room ahead.

She sincerely hopes that none of the boys notice how her cheeks burn as red as the hair on her Raggedy Ann doll.

* * *

><p>"Dad?"<p>

"Yes, sweetheart! How are you? Are you enjoying your second year of college? Oh, my girl's growing up so fast—you're growing up to be such a beautiful woman, Rachel—I am so _proud _of you! I love you, dear!"

"Dad, I love you too. Did Daddy happen to tell you anything about my living arrangement? I'm a little concerned-"

"Yes, honey, Daddy told me all about you living with Kurt and Blaine and all of those nice boys. I have to tell you, I am honestly _thrilled _with the entire arrangement. It makes me feel so much better to know that you have all those boys looking after you. I'd like all of their names and numbers as soon as you can get them to me—don't worry honey, I know what you're thinking, but I _promise _I won't call them unless it's a last resort. You know I just want to make sure you're safe and if I can't get in touch with you, well, I'll just call one of those darling seven boys."

"Dad, I'm not sure if 'darling' is the word you would use to describe them-"

"-And you know, sweetheart, living in this house with the shared rent makes everything so much less of a financial burden on us. You know that Daddy and I have been saving up for a trip for our 25th anniversary for awhile, and because you decided to live with the boys instead of in that apartment with that godawful girl, we finally have enough money to go on our dream vacation to Hawaii! It will be so nice to leave Lima for awhile, don't you think? But don't worry, Rachel—Hawaii is still in America so we'll be able to get all your calls if you need anything at school.

"Daddy and I are so _excited_ though! I love your father so much, and I love you too! Oh, gracious, I've just been going on and on—was there something you needed to talk about Rachel? Is anything wrong?"

"...No, nothing, Daddy. Everything's fine. I love you. I... I just wanted to tell you that I'm starting classes tomorrow."

"Oh, I love you too sweetheart. I'm _so _proud of you. You are going to do _so _well in your classes!"

* * *

><p>With a flustered sigh, Rachel flops into her bed. How can she possibly get out of this living situation now? Her fathers have been saving up for this trip for three years! They just recently celebrated their 28th anniversary, and though it was a nice, homey affair, she knows that her fathers have been itching to take a vacation.<p>

When Rachel was in high school, everything her dads wanted were put on the backburner because their precocious baby came first. Rachel went to voice lessons, acting lessons, etiquette lessons, cotillon. Anything to do with her musical talent and future career as a performer came first. Ever since she opened her mouth and started warbling at the tender age of two months and then won her first dance competition at three months, her parents all their desires and dreams behind them to pursue their own daughter's. She grew up with everything—a treadmill in her pretty pink room, delicious vegan meals when she decided to change her dietary habits at the age of twelve, a treehouse that looked like a castle in her backyard—and it's time for her to stop being the center of attention. Her dads deserve this trip.

She just needs to toughen up. She is going to be a diligent student; she is going to practice relentlessly; she is going to be a star. What doesn't kill her will only make her stronger, right? She just needs to learn to avoid the boys; she can do this. So come hell or high water, Rachel Barbra Berry is sticking in this house.

Even if her housemates continue their juvenile, boyish behavior. Which to be honest, they probably will.

* * *

><p>Rachel wakes up from a rather tumultuous sleep (she had a reoccurring nightmare that a really, really good-looking boy saw her naked in the bathroom which caused her to wake up sweating and panting heavily multiple times, only to come to the realization that said nightmare was not a nightmare at all, but instead the sad fact of her pathetic, miserable life. Seriously, can't she get a break?). She takes several deep breaths, does her morning voice exercises, and wipes the sleep from her eyes. After she applies light makeup (not too much—synthetic products are bad for your skin), she stealthily sneaks downstairs to have a bowl of Kashi cereal with soymilk. She packs a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and slips it into a brown paper bag, writes her name on it with a Sharpie, and places a gold star sticker next to her name (because the star is a metaphor for her being a star and metaphors are important, of course). And then she checks her schedule. And re-checks her schedule.<p>

It is 9:00 A.M. and she doesn't have class until 11:00 A.M. She forgot about this detail.

Where are the boys? She promised herself that she would try to avoid them at all costs, but she finds her mind wandering about their whereabouts, regardless of her attempts to exercise some self control. She sits at the kitchen table—after having cleared it of dirty dishes and beer cans—her hands perched nervously in her lap until she has had it. Where are the boys? Don't they have class? Shouldn't they be awake?

She knows she's making the wrong decision as she heads back up the stairs on her search for her housemates, but it's like she's having an out-of-body experience. Despite the nagging voice in her head telling her to just go to campus early and sit in a classroom and for goodness sakes, don't go _looking _for that ridiculous Finn Hudson, she knocks on a door with a haphazardly taped on sign that says "Mike" in small, neat writing. (She figures that Mike is probably the most harmless of all the boys—even more harmless than Artie, really, because the kid seems afraid of his own shadow).

When there's no answer, she knocks again—harder this time.

Still no answer.

With an irritated sigh (she knows she really shouldn't be doing this), she opens Mike's door. (The boys haven't respected her privacy, why does she need to respect theirs?)

"Mike?" she says carefully, stepping into the room over a pair of discarded faded jeans, while praying that the tall Asian boy isn't naked. "Mike, do you need breakfast? Don't you have class soon?"

There's a small, terrified whimper, and Rachel's eyes go immediately to the lone twin bed in the room. Two long legs stick out from under a comforter and over the end of the bed, and two gangly arms hang off of the sides of the bed.

"Mike, are you okay?" Rachel asks now, throwing all of her prudence to the wind. Mike sounds scared out of his mind and whatever is freaking him out might come get _her._

Thankfully, he's not naked.

What Rachel sees, however, is far from expected.

Mike is lying curled up under his comforter, his eyes wide and horrified, his lips pursed in a traumatized "o."

"Mike, what's wrong?" Rachel demands, walking straight up to him and placing a small hand on the taller boy's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Mike looks wordlessly at her. He takes a few breaths and then manages, "Don't you hear that?"

Rachel cocks her head, listening for any sort of noise. She hears the strange crescendo of music and heavy breathing coming from the neighboring room—Blaine's room, she realizes. There comes a steady beat and then an explosion of sound.

"_I said what what, in the butt?/I said what what, in the butt?"_

What the hell? Rachel isn't one for vulgarity—in fact, she has often said that cursing is the protest of the weak and imbeciles, but what the fuck? Really. What the fuck?

"_You wanna do it in my butt, in my butt?/You wanna do it in my butt, in my butt?/Let's do it in the butt, okay."_

There's a throaty moan of "Kurt, _harder_!" over the music followed by rhythmic thumping to the beat of the song, and Rachel realizes with a pang what she's listening to. Oh _hell _no.

"_It's okay, if you have a little fight/Don't you worry: I won't bite (not that hard)/If you want it, I'll give you power/Just be gentle, I'm delicate like a flower"_

There is no way in hell she is putting up with this. She did not move out of her apartment with her sex-crazed roommate where she had to listen to moans and screams and the sound of a bedpost hitting the wall to move into this house with hormonal boys to hear her stupid gay best friend and his stupid gay boyfriend having sex (or "making sweet love" as Kurt so artfully puts it) every morning. Kurt and Blaine must be out of their minds to think she will let them get away with this.

Mike's eyes are huge and round in his head as he pulls his pillow over his head. Rachel barely hears his quiet voice, but she manages to extrapolate, "They've been doing it all night. And they've had a different song for each time. I think I'm going to die. All of us are scarred for life. Puck said he doesn't want to think about sex for a day which is really long for him. I didn't even know there were that many songs about gay sex."

Rachel looks at him sympathetically from where Mike curls further into fetal position and begins rocking back and forth like a mental patient. She realizes it's probably the most words (even though they were jumbled and didn't make any sense) she's heard him ever utter at a time. He must be really disturbed.

"_I will give you what you need/All I want is your big fat seed/Give it to me if you please, give it to me, if you please"_

"Don't worry, I'll get them to stop," she says determinedly. She walks bravely out of Mike's room, leaving him trembling in the bed behind her, and knocks loudly on Blaine's door.

"Blaine! Kurt!" There is venom in her voice. Rachel has _had _it. She came to live in this dismal house with Kurt's stupid roommates who listed they were gay-friendly, but subjecting them (and her) to Blaine's moans and Kurt's screams is abuse.

Rachel closes her eyes and musters up her willpower. "You two will stop having sex _right _now unless you want me to move out. I can and _will _leave this house. I will find my own apartment and you will lose the extra housemate you need to keep this house. You will then have to be separated and find your own place to live. I will then proceed to take Puck's stash of marijuana, hide it somewhere in your new apartment where you cannot find it, and call the police to report you. Both of you will go to jail full of homophobic prisoners who make Karofsky look like a tooth fairy and you will never have sex with each other again."

"_You wanna do it in my butt, in my butt?/ You wanna do it in my butt, in my butt?/Let's do it in the butt, okay, aaah, aaah, aah"_

Rachel purses her lips angrily, and turns around to stalk out when there's a frantic cry.

"Kurt, Kurt! Turn it off! Put on your clothes, goddammit! Rachel's pissed off and you know better than me that we can't afford to lose her!"

Out come a sheepish, haphazardly dressed Kurt and Blaine, scrambling to grab Rachel. They reek of sex; Blaine's hair is in disheveled curls, Kurt's is mussed out of its usually perfect coif. Both boys are panting heavily, guilty expressions plastered on their faces.

"Rachel, God, why are you so difficult?" Kurt explodes.

Blaine claps a hand over his mouth.

"Rachel, Rachel," he pleads, his eyes shining, but Rachel's not following for the poor, sweet, innocent Blaine anymore. "Rachel, Kurt and I will try to keep it down. We're so sorry we were loud and the music was only to block out the noise-"

"Anderson, man, you scream like a fucking girl," comes a disturbed, shell-shocked voice. Rachel looks up and sees that Puck has bravely ventured into the hallway. "None of us—and I seriously mean it—want to hear how much you want Hummel inside of you. Funny, though. I always thought Hummel would be the bottom."

Blaine flames a deep shade of maroon, and Rachel takes advantage of the silence to inform Kurt and Blaine, "If you two sex-crazed animals are going to have sex," ("Make love!" is Blaine's protest as his face flushes even darker), "keep it down. The music doesn't cover up any of your hysterical wailing as one of you is climaxing. And do it at night or do it at some place that isn't here! Or I promise, I will move out."

And so, with that, Rachel walks, slightly traumatized, but head still head high—this morning's events will _not _affect her first on-campus experiences as a sophomore college student; she refuses to let them do so—to her first class.

With the exception of Kurt and Blaine, all of the boys—Finn Hudson included, she notices,—stand awkwardly at the front door and wave to her like she's their hero. Or heroine, she supposes.

It's kind of nice being appreciated. She could get used to this.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: The song choice was "What What (In the Butt)" by Samwell. I lol every time I hear it.

Also, I know that Kurt usually bottoms but there's something about a sassy, powerful Kurt and a submissive Blaine that makes me happier.

Also, Finchel tension, right? And Rachel is pretty bitchy, I realize, but try to be her in a house full of boys.

I hope you guys enjoyed! The more reviews I get (not alerts or favorites), the more likely (and sooner) I am to update.

Thank you!

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	5. of calculus & musically gifted boys

**Author's Note**: Hi everyone! I'm sorry this update was so delayed but I've been _swamped _with schoolwork and I finally managed to get around to posting this. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed-I really appreciate all of your feedback! Thank you for continuing to read, and for those of you who are reading _Crackedly Ever After _for the first time, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

**Summary**: All Rachel wants to do is survive college and become a star, but now she's living in a messed up fairy tale with seven, socially inept boys, who are proving to be quite the distraction. Finchel, Klaine AU

**Warnings**: sexual content, language, possible self-harm, abuse, attempted rape

**Rating**: M (to be safe)

**Genre**: Romance/Humor/Drama

**Pairings**: Finn/Rachel (Finchel), Kurt/Blaine (Klaine), Tina/Mike (Tike), Quinn/Puck (Quick), and so on and so forth as my wicked mind plots away

* * *

><p><strong>Crackedly Ever After<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

_of calculus and musically gifted boys_

* * *

><p>And so, off to her first day of class. Rachel clutches her white and gold star-studded canvas bag close to her side as she walks to campus. Her new textbooks shift in her bag and she can feel her shiny, color-coordinated binders through the cloth bag against her ribcage. Her heart beats quickly, lightness is in her steps—she's excited. She's ready for her new classes to start, a new year at school that will only open up so many more opportunities for her to acquire her so sought-after stardom.<p>

She's going to be a star.

She just has to get through Calculus first. Her schedule for the semester is Calculus I (her score of 4 on her high school AP test was unfortunately not sufficient to waive her from taking math classes), THTR 401: Advanced Voice (apparently she is extraordinary—which only reinforces what she already knows, of course—and therefore is allowed to be in an upper-level class with the seniors), THTR 303: Intermediate Acting (her advisors think she could use some improvement though obviously they just want to give the juniors and seniors a chance as she is clearly more talented), and DNC 402: Advanced Ballet. All of this on top of her classes, she has to work on her audition monologue and song for the upcoming production of the newest musical the school is putting on: _The Sound of Music. _And Rachel doesn't care what older, more rehearsed and trained upperclassman (or underclassman, she shudders at that thought), auditions—Rachel is getting the part of Maria, and that is that. With her natural talent, Rachel will surely get the role. In addition to this lead role she _will _get, Rachel also has to continue her performances with her acapella group, the New Directions, and they _will _place this year in the national competition.

She is a star in the making.

Her teachers and peers will see that one day. Her musical theater teacher, Mr. William Schuester, constantly complains that she's neurotic and annoying, but even he can't deny her talent. Her classmates may roll their eyes and groan when she informs them of her copious natural aptitude for the arts, but they will be sorry for ridiculing her when her name is in the bright lights one day and her face is plastered all over billboards in Times Square.

Rachel Barbra Berry will be on Broadway. She will be a world-famous actress and they'll all see. (And those who ever doubted her talent or tormented her for being too ambitious will be sorry).

But first she has to survive college.

And no jealous classmates will deter her from her goal.

Neither will the new boys she's living with. She'll make sure of that.

* * *

><p>Calculus trickles by at an alarmingly slow pace. Rachel likes college, she really does, and she enjoys her classes, but Calculus may be the bane of her existence. She doesn't understand the purpose of knowing whether a limit exists or does not exist, whether a graph is continuous and discontinuous, and so-on and so-forth.<p>

What she does notice, however, is how that blasphemous _Finn Hudson _is sitting right in front of her. Normally, she wouldn't let anything like this upset her—even though Finn does have the history of having seen her naked and everything—but the boy is _huge! _He towers over the boys to the right and left of him and his form is crouched and hunched over to fit in the small desk, and Rachel can't see a thing! Her view of the board and the math professor, Professor Tanaka, is completely obstructed by Finn's broad shoulders!

"Psst!" she hisses, poking Finn with her bedazzled pencil. "Finn Hudson!"

Finn turns around, rather stupidly, slowly, and looks at her. "Oh, hey Rachel!" His face brightens visibly at seeing her and then flushes pink with embarrassment. She presumes he's still embarrassed, even though she doesn't know why—obviously _she _is the victim here.

"Finn, you're blocking my view of the board," Rachel whispers angrily. "I can't see what Professor Tanaka's writing."

"Oh no worries," Finn says eagerly, looking a bit like a friendly Golden Retriever as he fumbles with his notebook. "You can just copy my notes."

Rachel looks down at the messy scrawl and flinches. There are arrows flying every which way in the chicken scratch that are Finn's class notes and his pencil is smudged in places, making his already messy notes almost intelligible.

She glances up at Finn, who beams at her like he's just hung the moon. He probably thinks that this is plausible redemption for his earlier acts.

Unfortunately for him, Rachel is not won over that easily.

"I can't_ read_ any of this," she says through gritted teeth as she hands him back his notebook disdainfully. "I can't afford to have my acting career and my perfect GPA jeopardized by the fact that you are twice the size of me and your truly _unnecessary _height! We'll just have to switch seats or something."

Finn looks flustered and lines of distress materialize across his forehead.

"I'm sorry," he answers sheepishly, "but Tanaka said the seating is permanent. Maybe you can talk to him after class?" he suggests, looking for consolation.

"Hudson, pay attention!" comes Professor Tanaka's voice. He glances down at his clipboard with all of his students' names. "You too, Berry!"

Rachel sinks down in her seat, fury radiating through her. This is completely unfair. If she gets anything less than an A in this class it will be the fault of that stupid tree of a boy, Finn! And that ridiculous professor!

She buries her head in her arms in frustration and rests her head on her desk. She can't see the board anyway—she'll just have to find someone else to get the math notes from and hopefully muddle through them somehow.

She feels a piece of paper slip into her fingers. Rachel glares at Finn, who looks away hurriedly and withdraws his fingers as though he's afraid she'll bite her, she unfolds the crumpled slip of paper.

_Sorry about __everything__. I'll take good notes. I promise._

Rachel feels a twinge in her chest. Maybe she's been overreacting. After all, the boy didn't know she was in the bathroom. And he didn't mean to sit in front of her on purpose. And it's not his fault that Tanaka is a stupid professor who used to teach high school so now he's running his college classroom like a high school class. And it's not his fault he's tall—it's his parents'. They should have thought it out before they conceived him that their son would be some kind of Frankenteen. And on the other hand, it's not his fault that she's so... _petite._ Her fathers should have taken into account their own genetically-determined heights and found a taller surrogate.

Hurriedly, she takes out a clean sheet of paper and (neatly) writes out, _Thank you. _She sticks a gold star sticker next to the "you" and she taps Finn's shoulder. She watches him take the paper into his gigantic hands and open them, a lopsided smile ghosting over his lips and his eyebrows arching up in delight, and she's just starting to think that Finn's actually quite attractive again when there's a knock at the door and _he _walks in.

_Jesse St. James_. With his luxurious long locks of hair and a masterful, chic style that a very select few males have managed to capture and execute, Jesse strolls lazily into Professor Tanaka's Calculus classroom and takes an empty seat diagonal from Rachel. Rachel feels her stomach flip-flop as he gives her a curt nod and focuses his ocean blue eyes on the board.

Professor Tanaka looks a little unnerved, and he mutters, "Are you Jesse St. James?"

When Jesse nods yes, Tanaka grumbles angrily, placing his beefy arms on his hips and warns Jesse that he better be on time next class or there will be consequences. Jesse runs his hands through his brown hair and nods disinterestedly, explaining that he had a _very _important audition to practice for.

Rachel's heart thuds in her chest as she takes nervous glances at Jesse's sculpted chin, his tousled hair. _Jesse St. James_. A college senior—two years older than her—and the only person she'll ever grudgingly admit has equally as much talent as her (well besides Barbra Streisand and Celine Dion and maybe... _maybe _Britney Spears). Jesse has managed to snag the lead from every person that has auditioned for any of the college musicals and plays and theatrical performance in the past: he was cast as the Phantom for the production of _The Phantom of the Opera_, Prince Charming in _Cinderella, _Danny in _Grease, _and so on. The word on the street is that there is no way his streak will stop. If he's not cast as Captain Von Trapp in this year's production of _The Sound of Music _then the Apocalypse will have come_._

Rachel... has never _talked _to Jesse perse. Of course there was that time when she lent him a pen to sign up for the audition list last year, and _ooh _that one time when she bumped into him in the hallway and offered him a small smile which was returned by a full, pearly-toothed white smile in return (which ended up being for another girl in the hallway behind her, but that's beside the point). And she religiously attended all of his competitions for his acapella group Vocal Adrenaline, but they never competed against each other as the New Directions didn't place last year to go to nationals. And he was in her Theater discussion period all of last year, but their paths never seemed to cross in the perfect fairy tale way she was predicting...

Okay, so she's never actually _interacted _with him.

But how can you expect her to simply approach someone with this much talent? Rachel can stomp all over those who are inferior to her (which is a great majority of her peers, she'll assure you), but when put face-to-face with a god who has way too much talent for this college, she's really in awe. She bought front row tickets to all of Jesse's shows last year and was mesmerized by his powerful, rich voice, his dashing good looks, his confidence and near _swagger _as he commanded the stage. She's pretty sure she fell in love with him the first time she saw him, but that this incredible feeling of love and being punched in the gut and butterflies fluttering throughout her entire torso was only accentuated the first time she heard him sing. Jesse St. James is the perfect match for the one and only Rachel Barbra Bery—

Except he has no idea who she is.

Rachel processes this thought sadly and slowly as she glances hopefully over at Jesse. He looks bored as he stares at the board, but then looks thoughtfully down at his math notebook and pens something in. Gosh, he's so _intelligent _too! And he understands the material so easily, so naturally. Rachel nearly swoons in her seat as she delves into thoughts about Jesse and his perfect face and his incredible voice.

She feels a tap on her shoulder and a slightly worried face comes into her vision. "Hey, Rachel?"

Rachel focuses on the face and realizes that it's Finn.

"What do you want?" she asks sourly, trying hard not to scowl.

"Umm, class is over," Finn says, pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and shuffling awkwardly. "And you were kind of looking out somewhere and I wasn't sure what was going on. I snapped my fingers in front of your face a couple of times and I was just making sure you're alright because it was tripping me out and not in a cool _Inception _kind of way."

Rachel flushes pink, and assembles all of her materials.

"I'll see you later, Finn," she says sharply, walking briskly away. The _nerve _of this Finn Hudson!

"Bye," she hears Finn's quiet reply, as she starts on her way to her next class.

* * *

><p>Rachel stands still, her eyes zeroing in on the piece of paper stapled to the wall. Empty slots are available for people to fill their names in, and one page is already full of names. The letters above the pieces of paper scream <em>The Sound of Music <em>and Rachel eyes her competition. Of course, her name is the first one on the list with a gold star placed neatly following her last name. Her eyes scan the list, registering only a few names that she knows: Tina Cohen-Chang who is in her acapella group, Mercedes Jones who was in one of her voice classes last year, _Jesse St. James._

She hears an amused noise from her side, and immediately swivels her head to see who it is.

It's him. _Jesse St. James _in the flesh.

"You scoping out the competition?" he offers, as Rachel nods lamely in reply, trying to find her voice. Her throat feels like it's been glued shut with peanut butter or something, and she swallows as she tries to answer.

"Yes," she finally manages to squeak out in a high-pitched voice that is _so _unlike her normal composure. And then, grasping onto her confidence, she adds, "Not, I assure you, that there really is any competition."

Jesse chuckles lightly, his eyes glinting a little dangerously and his teeth curled up in an almost wolfish smile. Dear God, he's so handsome. "I know how it is, sweetheart. So you're an actress, huh? With copious talent as well."

Rachel finds her generally unwavering (though described at times as neurotic) confidence. "Yes. My names will most definitely be in the lights of Broadway one day and my face all over Times Square."

Jesse flashes a new smile at her. "Jesse. Jesse St. James." He extends his hand, a devastating smile complete with straight white teeth stretching onto his face. (Rachel makes a mental note of this: Jesse values dental hygiene, which is really important to her especially if she wants her future children to have a good foundational base of genes. And if she were to have Jesse's kids, let's be honest, they would be absolutely beautiful and more talented than any family who ever existed before. Will Smith's kids? Move over. Beyonce's upcoming baby? Let's get real. And so on, and so forth).

"I know," Rachel answers automatically. Immediately she flames red. Now Jesse's going to think she's some crazy stalkerish fan (somehow she doesn't think that mentioning her collage of Jesse pictures in her closet will help that argument so she restrains herself from mentioning it).

Jesse laughs out loud. "You're a fan, then?"

"I've seen all of your plays," Rachel admits, "well the ones from the last two years at least. I'm a sophomore."

Okay, so this conversation is _not _going as she planned. First she admits her slightly creepy tendencies to creep and now she has completely undermined her worth at all by admitting that she's not _yet _an upperclassman.

But Jesse doesn't seem to mind. His eyebrows arching up and a smooth grin unfolding onto his face, he looks at her. "What's your name, new and rising star?"

"Rachel," Rachel answers, extending her tiny hand, "Rachel Barbra Berry."

"Well, Ms. Berry," Jesse says, taking her hand into his grasp. (Holy shit, holy _shit _he's _touching_ her!) "It was a pleasure making your acquaintance. I hope to see you around."

Rachel is focusing on slowing the thudding pace of her heart and on not passing out in the hallway, so she doesn't answer.

"Bye Rachel Barbra Berry," Jesse drawls, and then turns to walk away. Halfway down the hallway he stops and turns to say casually over his shoulder, "Ms. Berry, I'm presuming you know this but I'd like to inform you again. You know Captain Von Trapp does need a Maria. And you also know, this might be a good chance to prove yourself. And hypothetically, if you were cast as Maria, we would be spending a lot of time together, and luckily for you, I am not at all opposed to the idea."

He finishes, swivels on his heels, and continues his fluid motions sliding down the hall. Rachel remains in front of the audition list, her heart pounding in her chest.

If she had any doubts at all about this year (all of these concerns due to her new roommate situation), they have all evaporated. This year is going to be _awesome._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: So our Prince Charming has some competition. Come on, we all knew there was going to be a little St. Berry in there somewhere, right? :)

Please, please, please leave me reviews. Story favorites and alerts are great but they give me nothing to go off of as far as what you guys are thinking/what you want to see :)

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-sf


	6. of talking wands & snickerdoodles

**Author's Note**: Sorry this update is so late! I've been really busy with classes and homework and everything, but thank you all so much for those of you who reviewed, favorited, alerted, etc. This chapter is a bit... um... well you'll see.

**Summary**: All Rachel wants to do is survive college and become a star, but now she's living in a messed up fairy tale with seven, socially inept boys, who are proving to be quite the distraction. Finchel, Klaine AU

**Warnings**: sexual content, language, possible self-harm, abuse, attempted rape

**Rating**: M (to be safe)

**Genre**: Romance/Humor/Drama

**Pairings**: Finn/Rachel (Finchel), Kurt/Blaine (Klaine), Tina/Mike (Tike), Quinn/Puck (Quick), and so on and so forth as my wicked mind plots away

* * *

><p><strong>Crackedly Ever After<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>

_of talking wands and snickerdoodles_

* * *

><p>The rest of Rachel's first day of classes rushes by in a haze. She doesn't remember much of what happened except that that <em>awful <em>Quinn Fabray (who made her life a living hell her freshman year in the dorms until Santana set her straight) insulted her outfit again (whoever said that college was a world different from high school and all the bullying disappeared was most likely on crack), and that Rachel proceeded to shut her up in voice class when she belted out a ringing solo of "My Man." The _nerve _of people like Quinn Fabray! (Although Rachel has to admit that she's very pretty, probably the prettiest girl Rachel's ever known, but... _that's not the point!)_

Just watch, Rachel is going to get the lead role of Maria in _The Sound of Music_, captivate her audience, and show all of them. All of those people who failed to believe in her will regret their actions so much.

The day is also hard to remember because she keeps replaying the image of Jesse in her mind, with his dangerous smile and his dazzling eyes and his hand on hers. _And hypothetically, if you were cast as Maria, we would be spending a lot of time together, and luckily for you, I am not at all opposed to the idea_.

Rachel really doesn't have a lot of experience as far as boys are concerned, but he was flirting with her, right? She just feels like he was. He _was. _She knows he was. _Right?_

So, due to the stress and the excitement of her classes for that day, when Rachel arrives back at her house, she's exhausted. All she wants to do is have a hot cup of tea and construct a spring salad and maybe take a stab at decorating her room and take a nap.

Unfortunately, as soon as she walks through the door, she realizes that that does not seem to be an option.

Crouched around in a circle on the floor are all of housemates. Kurt is sitting, high and mighty, back straight, with his head raised regally as Blaine looks on at him in adoration (God, why does Blaine find Kurt so endearing even when he's being _impossible?_) and a quick survey of faces reveals an anxious Mike, a bored yet get-me-the-fuck-out-of-here expression plastered on Noah, a nervous-looking Sam, an bemused Artie, and a confused Finn. Kurt is holding a wooden... _stick? wand? w_ith a bright, plum-colored feather emerging from its top_... _and all of the boys swivel their heads to see Rachel once she's entered.

Kurt clears his throat. "Rachel!"

Rachel looks at him, trying hard not to scowl, and forcing herself to be pleasant, which is difficult as she recalls her annoyance at him from earlier events that morning. "What, Kurt?"

"Rachel, sit down," Kurt waves the piece of wood around and Mike and Sam shift apart to open up a space for her on the floor. "We're having house bonding and setting some ground rules because as of late, there have been several conflicts that we find necessary to resolve." He claps his hands eagerly, an excited pink flush coloring his cheeks and Blaine practically melts into a pile of goo.

"Hummel, this is a fucking joke," Noah spits out, and Finn nods in half-hearted agreement.

"What Puck is trying to say," supplies Artie helpfully, "is that this may not be that necessary-"

"I have homework to do," Mike offers, looking desperate. "Being pre-med is hard and Organic Chemistry is not easy-"

"Homework?" says Sam in a incredulous voice, "I have to sign up for Pottermore! Registration opened up today and I missed the last deadline and-"

"What's the stick for?" Rachel interrupts the boys, and at that, Kurt looks appalled. He opens his mouth a couple of times, words failing to come out, and Rachel is reminded of a confused-looking goldfish.

"It's a talking wand," Kurt declares, after gaining control of his vocal chords. He looks a bit disgustedly at Rachel (and all the boys gathered around in their little pow-wow) as if _she's _the crazy, stupid one in this situation. "Our attempts at a diplomatic, democratic council and open forum without a talking wand were failing horribly, and so Sam generously provided this wand-"

"It's a phoenix feather wand," Sam provides helpfully, "I bought it from the Harry Potter theme park in Florida. The wand _chose _me," he stresses defensively, as Artie struggles not to laugh, "in Ollivander's Wand Shop. A wand chooses its wizard, you know, and-"

Rachel stares blankly at him, debating over whether or not she should inform him that Hogwarts is in fact, fictional, and that if it were real, he should've gotten his letter before he entered high school let alone _college_, but Kurt looks visibly put-out and Sam looks so excited recounting his story about the Harry Potter theme park, she decides to humor these stupid housemates of hers and sits down. As she clambers in between Mike and Sam, her eyes connect with Finn's. Finn glances sheepishly at her, and then down at his hands, probably remembering their exchange earlier that morning. Rachel glances haughtily away—she is _not _going to forgive him that easily for walking in on her naked and calling her a _mailman!_

"Order, order!" Kurt yelps, waving the magical wand around. The boys in the circle stare pointedly at him, and Noah looks like he's about to say something (probably on the lines of, "Fucking Porcelain, you get mad when people call you a fairy but _take a look_ at yourself_, _man!") but Rachel sees Artie nudge him hard in the ribs, and he swallows his words. "Gentlemen... and Rachel, we have now officially finished one day of school and it is also time to set some boundaries as we are all living in this establishment together."

"All I want is for you and Blaine to stop going at it like rabbits. Good things you guys can't have babies or else we'd have a reality show here—Kurt and Blaine Time Plus Nine, complete with all those little shits running around," mutters Noah snidely, and Blaine flames a deep red and buries his face in his hands, while Artie looks taken aback and slightly horrified. Noah sniggers aloud (very immaturely, Rachel might add).

Kurt's ears and cheeks flush pink, but he continues on as though he hasn't heard anything. "As far as meals go, we're going to have to divide our duties. We can either forage for ourselves or run the house in a co-op manner, if you may. We could divide into teams for every day of the week for food or maybe at least for the weekends-"

"Forget that," Noah buts in snidely. He's really in an uncooperative mood. "The Puckasaurus fends for himself-"

"Oh, is that what you call stealing food from Patches the homeless man everyday? How low will you stoop, Puckerman?" Artie snips, and Noah growls, "Shut it, Professor X, if you know what's good for you. I'll break your _hands _too-"

"Order, order!" cries Kurt, waving the talking wand around wildly. "Gentlemen, I don't know if you're grasping the concept of the talking wand. Only the person holding the wand has the right to talk-"

"Oh fuck this," Noah finally spits, and he gets out of the circle and walks away.

Nervously watching Kurt, Finn quickly follows suit, and soon the pow-wow is disbanded, save for Rachel, Blaine, and a bewildered and flustered looking Kurt.

"Well that didn't go well," Blaine supplies a little unhelpfully. Kurt looks at him a tad disgustedly and Blaine looks visibly hurt.

Rachel crosses her arms across her chest and stands up.

"Maybe you should just send out an email," she tells Kurt.

She turns on her heels and heads to her room.

* * *

><p>Rachel finally manages to escape to the safe refuge of her own room. She flounces in a bit of an unladylike fashion onto her bed, and groans in frustration. She knows she needs to do homework (Professor Tanaka has already assigned problems!), but all she wants to do right now is think about Jesse. And get her mind as far away from the house party and her ridiculous gay best friend and all of these strange, freaky boys she has the misfortune of living with.<p>

After a good fifteen minutes of wallowing in self-pity, she finally decides that she's been unproductive for a long enough time and gets up, walking over to her canvas bag to pull out her Calculus book. It's then that she notices a neatly stapled, thin packet of paper of her desk. There's a small yellow post-it on the front of the packet, and her eyes scan it briefly.

_Hey Rachel,_

_Here are the Calculus notes from today's lecture. I really tried to put them in order but let me know if you have any questions._

_-Finn_

In wonderment, Rachel takes the post-it carefully off of the packet and glances at the notes. Painstakingly (and almost neatly) copied onto thin sheets of notebook paper are math notes. There is a world of difference between these almost second-grade penmanship letters and the chicken scratch she saw this morning. Finn really tried. And the notes almost make sense.

Sighing to herself, she puts the packet back down. Honestly, she may as well get it over with.

She'll admit it. She's been a right bitch to Finn. And she should apologize.

Sure, he was wrong for walking into her in the bathroom while she was naked, but that was probably an accident, right? He'd just arrived to the house and he didn't know that the bathroom door didn't lock and he didn't know that she was in the shower. And yes, he'd glued his eyes to her body a bit longer than she would have appreciated, but he's a boy and boys have hormones. She understands that. And okay, he did say she looked like a mailman which was very rude and uncalled for, but maybe she's not his type. It's a good call, he's too tall for her anyways. And he's not her type either. No, _that_ is a complete lie because of his arched eyebrows and hitched smile and adorable splash of freckles and friendly eyes, but Finn Hudson is _not _talented enough to keep up with her.

Jesse St. James is a real man, with superfluous talent and unwavering confidence to match, and he's who she has her eye on.

But... she can be friends with Finn, right? After all, they'll be living together all year. Better to diffuse some tension now. Plus, he's apologized a lot. And it's really not his fault that Professor Tanaka is so immature and... for lack of a better word, _dumb,_ and assigns seating in college. And Finn's making an effort. These notes are much neater than his hideous scrawl from before, so he had to have put some time into recopying them for her, and for that, he should be commended.

This is how Rachel ends up at war with herself in their crowded kitchen, baking a batch of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. And another batch of snickerdoodles.

* * *

><p>The second batch of cookies ends up being a great plan as Noah barges into the kitchen and snags six cookies as Rachel's back is turned and they're gone before she can stop him (that doesn't stop her from scolding him). Noah is followed by Mike Chang who comes in and looks at her with enormous sad, pathetic eyes (which is very impressive for an Asian, she'll admit) and wheedles her into giving him "just one, please Rachel, <em>please<em>." Artie wheels into the kitchen and pulls the "I'm a cripple; you are going to hell if you don't feed me," card, and Blaine comes up behind Rachel and pulls her into a tight hug and compliments her on her outfit and tells her, "I don't know if I've ever told you how _great _you are, Rachel, but I'd like to now."

With that, Rachel snaps and ends up throwing half of the cookies to the four wild boys crowded in the kitchen. Like wolves over a dead carcass, they swarm around them and polish off twenty-four cookies (twelve of each) in the matter of seconds, while Rachel stares, stunned. (The only boys who aren't there are Sam—who apparently is still concerned about his abs, Kurt—who claims that sugar and peanut butter are bad for his complexion and that though his boyfriend is a heathen with a monstrous metabolism, Kurt is not anything of the kind, and Finn).

Good thing, because the rest of the cookies are for Finn anyway.

* * *

><p>After piling a pyramid of cookies onto a plate and covering them in Saran-wrap (and fighting off the crowd of boys who hungrily watch her every move—honestly, they should really do this co-op idea or else most of them are going to <em>starve <em>to death at their insufficient skills for survival or end up obese living off of pizza and Burger King and McDonald's), Rachel heads upstairs to Finn's room. She doesn't exactly know which room it is, but by process of elimination, it has to be the room she _didn't _choose, the one that smelled slightly of mold, so she knocks on his door and stands there a bit nervously.

There's a muffled, "Come in!" and Rachel opens the door to come into Finn's room.

He's crouched over his desk, his forehead broken with lines of distress as he flips through his Calculus book. Figures.

As Rachel enters, Finn glances up, and his eyes widen in surprise.

"R-R-Rachel," he stammers, standing up abruptly to face her. His chair falls over and his mouth tumbles open. "Um, c-c-can I help you with something? Did I do something wrong?"

His eyes shift nervously around the room as if there's something he's set on fire without knowing and Rachel is coming in to scream at him to put it out before it spreads to the entire house and leaves all of them standing in shambles and smoke.

Rachel feels her heart twinge a bit more painfully then she'd like to admit. Has she really been _that _terrible to Finn? He genuinely seems to think that she hates him, and replaying her past actions of that day isn't helping her case.

She steadies her voice, and looks at him calmly. "I just came to thank you for the Calculus notes. They will be very helpful and I can tell you put a lot of time into them. So I decided to be generous and return the favor and made you these," she holds out the platter of cookies, and at that, Finn's look of unease shifts into outright awe and gratitude.

"Gosh, really Rachel?" he looks at her like she's found the cure for cancer all by herself in the matter of fifteen minutes. Finn lumbers over and accepts the plates from Rachel's tiny hands in his enormous ones. Rachel tries to ignore how he towers over her in a rather intimidating way, but how his wide dopey smile is almost endearing. _Almost._

"What type are these?" Finn asks, eagerly ripping off the Saran wrap and popping a full Snickerdoodle into his mouth. His eyes light up and he follows the first cookie with a peanut butter chocolate-chip one, and and grins a full toothy smile. "Rachel, these are _amazing._ They're awesome, like the best cookies I've ever tried. Really." He proves this to her by proceeding to devour two more. (Rachel has now counted the disappearance of four cookies in less than a minute, but brushes her concerns for Finn's health aside and, instead, takes into account how truly _thrilled _he is).

"As you probably already know, they're my Daddy's famous snickerdoodles and peanut butter chocolate chip cookies," Rachel says, brushing her skirt out with her hands. She meets Finn's eyes, and can't help but beam at the look of utter worship and adoration he is giving her. Honestly, it feels kind of nice to have a boy look at her and appreciate her like this, especially when she's actually wearing clothes.

"Thank you!" Finn bounds across the room in one big stride and pulls Rachel into a crushing embrace. He bends over to hug her, but realizes the height difference is a bit much, and then simply pulls her up from the ground, her body enfolded in his large arms.

Rachel tries to avoid the rapid beating of her heart as Finn essentially squeezes the air out of her. It's kind of like being hugged by a gigantic warm teddy bear, and though she's a bit nervous about lacking a solid foundation under her feet, she has to admit that she's actually rather comfortable and warm. She can feel her heart beat against his and she fits perfectly into his arms. It's nice, really. Finn Hudson is a nice boy, in spite of very recent events. And she could use a few nice boys in her life, especially with sassy gay Kurt becoming all vicious as of recent and with the perpetually horny Noah who keeps propositioning her for sex.

"You're welcome," Rachel manages to squeak, before Finn puts her down sheepishly.

There's an awkward silence as their eyes meet again. His nose is within several centimeters of hers and he starts moving his face in closer and she can't help but be drawn forward slightly and...

Rachel's smile fades as Finn suddenly pulls back and flushes red. He runs back to his desk to flip his chair over upright and then scrambles into it, pulling his Calculus book onto his lap.

"Yeah, Rachel, thanks so much for the cookies but I just realized I have to start doing Calculus," he babbles wildly, his face still flushed red.

Rachel stares, agape. She may be very wrong about this, but she thought for a moment there, that he was going to kiss her. And she wouldn't have minded, at all. But big, macho Finn pulled back for some absurd reason, and the only thing that she can ration is that there must be something wrong with her.

Who does Finn Hudson think he is?

With a defiant _hmmph, _Rachel turns on her heels and exits Finn's room. This is the _last _time she'll make cookies for him.

If Rachel had been paying close attention when she walked out, she would have noticed that his hands were over his crotch the whole time.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: Yeah... so I'm quite aware that this chapter sucked ass. If you have any suggestions, please let me know. I might rework it and post something else, but PLEASE let me know what you think. Because I know it was crappy. I'm so sorry.

(But the talking wand part comes into play later... and poor Finn and his embarrassing "accident!")

Please, please, please leave me reviews. Story favorites and alerts are great but they give me nothing to go off of as far as what you guys are thinking/what you want to see :)

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-sf


	7. of highpitched wails & lacrosse sticks

**Author's Note**: Sorry this update is so late! I've been so, so, so busy with college and life, but Thanksgiving break gave me some time to crank this chapter out!

Shout outs to _i-am-a-nerd-fighter, wood-u-like-2-no, Melmin, & Tribbith _for great reviews! Thank you!

**Summary**: All Rachel wants to do is survive college and become a star, but now she's living in a messed up fairy tale with seven, socially inept boys, who are proving to be quite the distraction. Finchel, Klaine AU

**Warnings**: sexual content, language, possible self-harm, abuse, attempted rape

**Rating**: M (to be safe)

**Genre**: Romance/Humor/Drama

**Pairings**: Finn/Rachel (Finchel), Kurt/Blaine (Klaine), Tina/Mike (Tike), Quinn/Puck (Quick), and so on and so forth as my wicked mind plots away

* * *

><p><strong>Crackedly Ever After<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>

_of high-pitched wails and lacrosse sticks_

* * *

><p>After that unsettling exchange with the giant of a boy Rachel refuses to associate with in the future (unless absolutely necessary), Rachel stalks back to her room and sits down at her desk, opening her laptop. She Googles "Maria The Sound of Music" and spends the next half hour immersing herself in her soon-to-be-obtained role. Maria is a strong-willed, confident woman who is trying to prove herself worthy of joining a convent. Rachel thinks she can identify quite well (well, except for the convent part as her Jewish faith is very important to her after all. She thinks about making plans to ask the director to alter the script a little to make the church a synagogue, which he should be willing to do as she will blow him away with her endless talent).<p>

Eventually her attention wavers and she finds herself checking her email. There's a thread from Kurt to everybody in the house, and she opens it to read:

From **TheHummelWearsPrada**:

_To my fellow housemates,_

_Tonight's meeting was a dismal failure and at the suggestion of a certain Miss Rachel Barbra Berry, who may I mention is very intelligent in spite of her unending complaints, I decided to compose my ideas through this electronic message instead. It has come to my attention that many of us are much less self-sufficient than we would like to believe as evidenced by the swarm of us who just tackled Rachel for her cookies (by the way, you should really watch out for how many calories and the amount of saturated fat that you just mindlessly consumed because boyfriend—and girlfriend for Rachel, I suppose—the food goes somewhere, you know). It is for this reason that I have drawn up a schedule for this semester: every weekend, a pair of us living in The Estate (yes, from now on, I have decided that our abode will be referred to as The Estate), will be responsible for cooking for the rest of the house. In return, the rest of the house will set the table, do the dishes, and be responsible for other clean up because we cannot live in such unsanitary conditions—yes, we are all boys (well except for Rachel), but why does that mean we can't value hygiene?_

_Starting with this coming weekend (that advances upon us in less than two days) and continuing onwards:_

_Finn and Rachel_

_Noah and Artie_

_Kurt and Blaine_

_Mike and Sam_

_Please try to take into consideration the dietary restrictions we have. Rachel is a vegan, I am allergic to grease and fat, etc. Please email in any of your dietary concerns into this thread._

_As before stated, Rachel and Finn, you are responsible for cooking this weekend._

_Please let me know if you have any concerns._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Kurt Hummel_

Reply from **puckasaurus_rex**:

_dude u sound like a professor or something porcelain and i dont eat pork_

Reply from** Frankenteen**:

_puck does that include bacon_

Reply from **wheelsonfire**:

_Yes Finn, that does include bacon. Both pork and bacon and ham (just throwing that in for good measure), are all pig products._

Reply from **Frankenteen**:

_o okay thanks artie_

Reply from **ilovedimsum**:

_If it's alright with you guys a lot of my culinary skills are limited to Chinese dishes my mom taught me to prepare so when I cook with Sam, you might not see too much variation._

Reply from **theboywholived**:

_I can make a pretty mean batch of lembas bread and chocolate frogs and butterbeer if I have the right ingredients. Get ready guys, it's gonna be totally awesome!_

Reply from **puckasaurus_rex**:

_sam what the hell is lembus bread_

Reply from **theboywholived**:

_You don't know? It's Elvish food it's so refreshing! Made totally for sustenance dude to get you through those long, late nights cramming for finals and all!_

Reply from **Frankenteen**:

sam cool it on the exclamation points

Reply from **stopcallingmeahobbit**:

_Sam, that sounds delightful. I can't wait to try it._

_Kurt, I love you._

Reply from **puckasaurus_rex**:

_u guys r fucking saps_

Reply from **TheHummelWearsPrada**:

_Puckerman, don't be jealous of what Blaine and I have just because your love life consists of a string of cheap, brainless floozies and women who are way too old for you._

_And Blaine, I told you, you really must change your username._

After reading this last reply, Rachel has had _enough. _Kurt thinks she's going to cook with _Finn? _Was he absent for the last twenty-four hours of their interactions? Rachel Barbra Berry will not have this.

Fuming, she slams her laptop down onto her desk (a bit immaturely but the abuse of her school materials seems to make her feel minimally better), and stalks furiously to the area that has been declared "Kurt and Blaine's Sex Zone." Mike seems to have stapled up a haphazard sign that reads, "STAY OUT" in huge, block letters.

Rachel really couldn't give a damn.

"Kurt!" she screeches, nearly kicking the door into Blaine's room. "What is this?"

"What is what?" Kurt glances at her disinterestedly from where he's in a downward dog pose. He's extended over a yoga mat, and his forehead furrows a little bit in distress at having his stress-releasing exercises be interrupted by a stress-inducing person. Blaine is mimicking his boyfriend beside him and offers Rachel a smile which is not returned.

"This cooking list? Why am I paired with Finn?" Rachel spits furiously.

Kurt brings himself up to face Rachel and Blaine mirrors the movements of Kurt's body exactly. "Oh God, Rachel, grow up. Are you really going to get your panties in this much of a twist every time something doesn't go your way? What are you going to do when you're rejected for your first Broadway role? Are you going to handle it in this truly _immature_ fashion or-"

"First of all, I won't be rejected from any Broadway roles," Rachel interjects heatedly. "And second, that has nothing to do with the fact that you paired me up with a boy who you know I cannot _stand!"_

"Didn't you just make him cookies?" Blaine supplies in a way that Rachel assumes is supposed to be helpful. "What changed? Did something happen? In the last," he checks his watch, "forty-seven minutes?"

"Just because I made him cookies," Rachel spits out, "doesn't mean that we are best friends. This does not change the fact that he saw me naked and proceeded to insult me and it does not change the fact that I am going to fail Calculus due to his miserable, clearly abnormal height!"

"Rachel, have you ever thought that maybe you're just short?" Kurt snips back.

Rachel is so mad she almost sees red, her heart is pounding aggressively in her chest, and she is unclenching and clenching her hands into fists. Blaine seems to see that Kurt has stepped into a dangerous zone and immediately opens his mouth to explain.

"What Kurt's reasoning was," Blaine says, stepping carefully in front of his boyfriend as though he's afraid Rachel will suddenly grow fangs and claws and kill his beloved Kurt Hummel (this is unfortunately not an unfounded fear from the dangerous look Rachel is throwing Kurt), "is this. He thought the pairings through a lot, actually. He figured that if he paired you with Puck, Puck would just hit on you the whole time and make you very uncomfortable. Artie seems to be the only person who seems to be calm enough to handle Puck as Mike seems scared of his own shadow, Sam is asking to be stuffed into a trashcan, and Finn and Puck would just create a mess and none of us would ever get to eat the weeks they cooked. Since Mike has some culinary experience (even though it is limited to Asian cuisine), he'll save us from whatever fantastical food Sam has in mind and obviously, Kurt and I have to work together."

Rachel doesn't miss the suggestive wink Blaine throws Kurt. She can't help but shudder as she imagines what "cooking" means to Kurt and Blaine.

However, she's had much practice at making herself seem composed even when she is completely frazzled.

"Nice save, Blaine," Rachel offers, as she proceeds to open herm mouth for a lengthy discussion on why she and Finn Hudson are not compatible in the slightest and how if Blaine and Kurt wish to save the fate of their living situation one of them needs to switch with Finn _immediately, _when her thoughts are interrupted by a loud, surprisingly high-pitched screaming and wailing noise.

"What the _fuck _is that?" Kurt's shocked blue eyes widen to the size of saucers in his pale face.

"I don't know." Blaine's voice trembles slightly as he immediately wraps Kurt in a protective grasp in his arms.

As endearing as Kurt and Blaine are as they shake in fear and hold onto each other for dear life, Rachel has other plans of self-preservation. As good as a friend as at least Blaine is (Kurt's qualities have been questionable as of late), Rachel is not going to stand by and sacrifice herself to whatever cruel, banshee-like creature is out there to allow the boys to save their own skins.

She's about to scream when their door bursts open and a bewildered Mike and frazzled Noah and a scared Finn push their way into Kurt and Blaine's Sex Zone (STAY OUT).

"Did you hear that?" blusters Noah, pushing back his mohawk.

"Noah, I think anyone with functional eardrums within a five mile radius of us heard that," snips back Kurt.

Blaine slaps his hand over Kurt's mouth and eyes Noah warily; Noah doesn't seem to notice. Instead, Noah fails to pay any attention to Blaine's defensive behavior at all, as his deep-set hazel eyes narrow in suspicion. "What was that?"

"I have no idea." Kurt has managed to struggle out of Blaine's grasp and he gives his boyfriend a disapproving look. Blaine widens his eyes and Kurt's gaze softens as he lightly caresses Blaine's chocolate hair. "But let's go find out."

Cautiously they open the door and the wailing has only escalated. Finn and Mike have clumped themselves up behind Noah.

"Where's Artie?" Finn asks a voice barely over a whisper.

"And Sam?" Mike's voice is shaking. "Do you think he's dead?"

"Oh God," wavers Noah, his arrogant swag failing. "Do you think it ate Artie and his wheelchair too?"

With that, Rachel turns around and faces the boys. _This _is what is making her dad more comfortable about her safety? _They _are going to protect her? A sassy prima donna and his oversensitive boyfriend, a wannabe badass with a mohawk who lacks balls, a gangly Asian kid who screams when a pin drops, and a overeager pervert with the appetite and the eyes of a Golden Retriever?

"What is _wrong _with all of you?" Rachel demands, stamping her feet. She feels admittedly like a six-year-old, but honestly, these are supposed to be the strong, masculine men who are here to protect her from being raped and supposed to stand in the way and take the blows to preserve her petite and elegant body and of course her superfluous talent. "Are you guys really afraid of whatever is out there? What is wrong with you? Where is your courage? Your masculinity? Your bravado? You are all _cowards!" _she howls, crossing her arms and looking indignantly at all of them.

Her rampage is interrupted by another loud, painful wail.

And that's how Rachel finds herself locked outside of Kurt and Blaine's Sex Zone (STAY OUT) while the five boys crowd themselves into the small room and close the door.

* * *

><p><em>Unbelievable.<em>

This whole situation is _un-_fucking-_believable, _thinks Rachel, as she holds the flimsy lacrosse stick Mike found in the corner of Blaine's room. (This discovery had led Blaine to confess that he used to play lacrosse which Kurt found incredibly sexy and resulted in a passionate make out session between the two boys much to the discomfort of Mike, Noah, and Finn whose presences were blatantly ignored by Kurt and Blaine. However, the kissing was interrupted by yet another banshee-like cry which pushes Noah to throw the lacrosse stick at Rachel and order her to "Find whatever is out there and kick its ass, Berry!")

So now, here she is, all five feet and two inches of her, wielding a dirt-stained lacrosse stick warily in front of her as she creeps down the staircase toward the source of distressed noises. It sounds like it's coming from the kitchen, and the silence is broken into a series of loud, dissonant cries as she approaches. Rachel's fingers shake nervously around her tightened grip on the stick as she nears the dining area.

That's when she feels the hand on her shoulder.

With a surprised yelp, Rachel instinctively whirls around, squeezes her eyes shut, and clubs the thing behind her straight in the head. She hears the person goes down with a thump and Rachel's mouth flops open with shock when she musters the courage to open her eyes.

There's a huge body lying straight on the floor.

It's Finn.

"Finn?" Rachel asks incredulously in a high-pitched voice. She stands above his prone figure on the kitchen tile. "Finn!" she tries again, when there's no reply to her squeak.

"Ngghhhh," is all Finn can manage from his position on the floor. He sits up and shakes his head slightly. His eyes cross, a bit disoriented, as he brings up his hand to the side of his face where a large lump is already starting to appear.

"What are you doing?" Rachel hisses. When Finn continues to make unintelligible, indiscernible noises, she throws down the lacrosse stick and grudgingly kneels on the floor to sit down next to him.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her voice more gentle. "Let me see."

"Nggggghhh," is Finn's reply as he pushes his fingers harder onto the lump.

"Finn!" Rachel protests, pulling his hand away from his head. "Oh God, I'm so sorry."

And sorry she is. There is very visible swelling and from the looks of it, the bump is going to be pretty large. It's already almost purple in color and the clear outline of the lacrosse stick is prominent against Finn's light skin.

"What were you doing here?" Rachel asks indignantly, but then is subdued by the recent memory of how the fact that Finn is laying on the floor is all her fault. "I thought you were hiding with the rest of the boys," she coos in a way that she hopes will help Finn forgive her for bludgeoning him in the noggin, as she puts her own small hand over his bump. She puts her other hand on his back in an attempt to support him as she feels his enormous body start to shift back downwards.

"Couldn't..." Finn mutters, his eyes still crossed. His pupils move in and out of focus and his forehead creases in distress as he tries to concentrate on formulating his answer. He places his arms shakily on the ground beside him., "Couldn't let you go... out there by yourself. You're... you're really... l-little, R-R-Rachel. Cute."

Rachel's not incredibly sure how to respond. Yes, it was very nice of Finn to be concerned about her safety unlike the other cowardly boys, but at the same time, she is a strong, independent woman who can concern herself.

As Finn groans aloud in pain though, and a flurry of words escape him ("God, R-R-Rachel, you got me good..."), all resentment disappears and is replaced by an innate desire to right the situation at hand. (Is that guilt pricking at her heart? She shakes it away... no, it can't be).

"I'll get you some ice," she promises, and stands up to enter the kitchen.

It's then that she again hears the cries.

Rachel grabs the lacrosse stick off the floor from where it lays next to Finn, and creeps stealthily into the kitchen. She proceeds to drop the stick in disbelief.

Sitting at the kitchen table is Sam. He glares at his laptop in frustration and throws his head in his hands and utters a truly inhuman, grating noise as he wails in distress. By his side is a bemused (and amused) looking Artie who is rubbing small circles on the blonde boy's back.

"Come on, Sam, it can't be _that _bad. Cheer up! It's just Pottermore. Getting sorted into Hufflepuff isn't the end of the world."

"I'm a _Gryffindor!" _protests Sam wildly, throwing up his arms in frustration. He makes another horrific noise as he continues to complain. "Nobody wants to be a Hufflepuff. What the _hell _is a Hufflepuff?"

Rachel gets a Ziploc bag to fill up with ice.

Her life is a joke.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: Sorry it's so short guys! I just wanted to say THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THE AMAZING FEEDBACK. I hated the last chapter but after your guys' support, it made me feel a little bit better about it.

I know this chapter was short and not that great, but it will start improving... I promise! I had a few suggestions to get some girls in here, and it'll happen guys :) How do you expect the other pairings to happen without any girls? :)

If you guys have any feedback/anything you'd like to see, PLEASE let me know. Your reviews are so appreciated! Thank you!

Here are some replies to anonymous reviews that I really appreciated :)

_Helen_: I think this story is going to be predominantly from Rachel's point of view, but I'll definitely consider putting in a few tidbits from what Finn is thinking. I just find it, as a female writer, sometimes easier to write from a girl's side ;) Thanks so much for reading!

_Maia_: Your review made me so happy! I'm glad you laughed so much! As I mentioned, girls are DEFINITELY going to make an appearance soon. I just have to figure out how to weasel them into this story!

_Bueller_: More Finn in this chapter... haha sorry I haven't gotten to Jealous!Finn yet, but it will come!

Story Hits-10,099

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-sf


	8. of mirth & tofu

**Author's Note**: HAPPY NEW YEARS GUYS! I really tried to get this out on January 1 as a New Year's present, but it wasn't happening. To be honest, I hit quite a standstill with this, but I'm glad I worked myself out of my funk. I really enjoyed writing this chapter so I hope you enjoy reading it?

I'm glad the AVPM references weren't lost on you!

Thank you so much for your reviews and your support. You have no idea how much they mean to me :)

Shout outs to _Ellie-Ohhh, Taylore, emiiix, LasttoFirst, dancingxinxthexrain, Melmin, bueller,_ and_ firecaughton _for great reviews! Thank you!

**Summary**: All Rachel wants to do is survive college and become a star, but now she's living in a messed up fairy tale with seven, socially inept boys, who are proving to be quite the distraction. Finchel, Klaine AU

**Warnings**: sexual content, language, possible self-harm, abuse, attempted rape

**Rating**: M (to be safe)

**Genre**: Romance/Humor/Drama

**Pairings**: Finn/Rachel (Finchel), Kurt/Blaine (Klaine), Tina/Mike (Tike), Quinn/Puck (Quick), and so on and so forth as my wicked mind plots away

* * *

><p><strong>Crackedly Ever After<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight<strong>

_of mirth and tofu_

* * *

><p>"Are you alright?" Rachel asks gently, for the umpteenth time as she brushes some of Finn's cold, wet hair off his face. By now, the bag of ice cubes has melted and there's cold droplets of water all over Finn's forehead, as he whimpers lightly in protest.<p>

"Yeah," Finn manages, shifting on his bed. Rachel is sitting at the top of Finn's bead, his head cradled in her lap on top of her new pink skirt, as she tries to reduce the swelling she inflicted with Blaine's old lacrosse stick (which apparently hits a lot harder than one would think).

Rachel runs her slender fingers over the raised lump, pressing gently against it. Finn emits a small, protesting sound and then sighs in relief as she starts rubbing small circles against his temple.

"F-feels good," he whispers with a shudder, leaning into her touch and closing his eyes as he begins to relax. "T-thanks, Rachel."

"You're welcome," Rachel replies, surprising herself with the genuineness in her voice. "I'm... really sorry," she admits, and Finn opens his eyes to look at her. "I didn't know it was you behind me. I thought that there was someone bad and I really _never _would have hit you with that lacrosse stick intentionally."

"I know," he says, and the simplicity of his reply pleases her. "I should've known that you could handle yourself." He chuckles to himself, "I thought I was coming to protect you, but from the looks of it, nobody could even come close to hurting you, as long as you're armed with a lacrosse stick." Finn laughs aloud as he playfully teases her, and then stops abruptly a look of pain crosses his face. He closes his eyes again.

There's silence.

Rachel clears her throat, trying to search for a conversation topic. Instead, all that happens is a confession tumbles out of her.

"Finn," she finally says, "can we start over?"

She doesn't have to clarify; Finn seems to understand immediately. He opens his eyes so quickly that he flinches in pain. Rachel keeps rubbing small, light circles on his temples.

But he answers, "I'd like that."

Okay. That's all fine and dandy, but now Rachel doesn't have the slightest idea of where to start. "Umm..."

"Hi," Finn says brightly, from where his head is in Rachel's lap. He extends a big, almost paw-like hand to her. "I'm Finn. Finn Hudson."

Rachel puts her more petite, bordering-on-the-edge-of-tiny hand in his. "Rachel Barbra Berry, aspiring Broadway star. You'll see my name in the lights one day."

Finn chuckles at that, the sides of his eyes crinkling up and his lopsided grin draping over his face. He lets go of Rachel's hand and rubs the side of his face to push some drops of water off of his cheek. "I don't doubt it, Rachel."

Rachel beams brightly at him with no inhibitions, surprising even herself. (Well there's a first for everything, isn't there?) "Really? You really think so?"

"Yeah," Finn says, his expression unchanging. "I really do."

"You know what?" Rachel offers. "I'll save you a ticket for my first show. In the _front row_ if you want. Naturally you'll be next to Kurt, and Kurt will probably bring Blaine provided that they're still together which I don't see any reason as to why they wouldn't be, but as long as you're okay with that then you'll really get to be hit head-on with my superfluous, boundless talent and just between you and me, all the other boys will surely be jealous."

Rachel pauses, and then glances at Finn a bit bashfully. Yes, she is obviously talented, but some (okay, _most_) boys might see her enthusiasm and ambition as intimidating and... overbearing or condescending (and even though these boys are obviously not worth her trouble or her time, sometimes it admittedly hurts even if it's just a _little_ bit), and with her new budding relationship with Finn Hudson (who is cute and has sparkly eyes and a great body in spite of his perverted tendencies), she doesn't want to immediately scare and push the boy away.

If Finn thinks she's overwhelming he doesn't say anything. Instead, he just smiles and reaches a hand to touch the side of her face. It's a bit awkward and his hand is a bit clammy from the ice bag, but Rachel thinks it's incredibly sweet.

"I'd love that," Finn says, with no trace of sarcasm. He doesn't roll his eyes in the way that Rachel knows Kurt would (even though Kurt really does truly love her), and Finn's eyes are honest and friendly.

Maybe getting bashed over the head with a lacrosse stick knocked some kindness into him. (Rachel is secretly hoping this is true because then her beating him with a stick wasn't _all _bad of an act even though Noah had asked what the fuck was wrong with her).

Rachel positively beams at him. Finn Hudson really is a nice boy and maybe they can be friends after all.

Finn grins at her as he changes the subject. "Hey, so Rachel we're cooking this weekend."

"Yes!" Rachel says automatically, this cooking adventure no longer seeming like such a daunting task but maybe something relaxing and maybe even productive instead. "I thought maybe we could make sweet potato fries and tofu burgers and a citrus salad."

"Tofu burgers?" Finn wrinkles his nose a little at that, and Rachel caves (only slightly).

"If you're really opposed to the idea, we could also get turkey burgers," she suggests, her voice coming out a little more sharply than she intends. "But it's really our duty to reduce our carbon footprint and _think of the animals, _Finn. The poor, defenseless animals that we have to _murder _for people to eat meat."

(She doesn't mention that every time she says this to Kurt, he plugs his fingers into his ears and starts _la-la-la-ing _in an incredibly immature and obnoxious way—why is she friends with Kurt again? If she manages to convert Finn to veganism—or vegetarianism at the _least—_it will be a major accomplishment on her part and Finn will go up exponentially in her book).

Finn seems to sense her disappointment and shifts in unease. He's seeming to cave a little. "Umm, I guess we could all do a vegan dinner, just to try it out."

Rachel gives him a million dollar smile, which he seems to appreciate.

Good. She likes being appreciated.

Finn looks tired now, and he glances up at her with droopy eyes as she continues to massage his head. "I might fall asleep, Rachel, but your fingers feel great," he says slightly sleepily.

Rachel gives him a gentle smile and continues to rub circles on his head. She at least owes him that, after nearly killing him with her lacrosse stick.

"_Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens,_" she sings softly, to her favorite song in _The Sound of Music_, "_bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens..._"

"You can really sing," Finn murmurs groggily, and he falls asleep to the soft lull of her voice, the soft melody rising and falling around him.

Rachel carefully unravels her legs from underneath Finn's head. She's starting to realize that they really just got off on the wrong foot, and she's happy that they're going to get past that.

On another note, she's found her audition song.

* * *

><p>Rachel kills the audition (as she very much expects to do).<p>

Unsurprisingly, her name is on the callback list (right under _Jesse St. James!)_

* * *

><p>"That's great!" Finn explodes, when Rachel tells him the news. He bounds over and gives her huge bear hug, swinging her around in the air. (This was after she had told Kurt and Kurt had hugged her and warned her not to let everything go to her head or else it would explode like an overfilled balloon and Blaine had cut in with, "Kurt, be nice and <em>congrats! <em>Rachel!") Rachel's not sure how she feels about Finn, the resident pervert of the house—okay, okay it was an accident, she sees that now, giving her a better response than Kurt, but she's so happy about the callback that she'll take any attention and enthusiasm she can get.

"Thank you!" Rachel squeals with delight, as she sets down the grocery bags. "Now wash your hands." It's Saturday morning and time for them to start preparing dinner. The task before them is quite daunting—they have to prepare four adequate meals for the rest of the weekend (Kurt has ruled that people can handle themselves for breakfast and to be quite honest, not many of the boys actually eat breakfast because they are generally hungover, or in Mike's case, neck-deep in Organic Chemistry).

The menu is as follows: a sandwich bar and tomato soup for Saturday lunch (Finn suggested that they keep things as simple and as do-it-yourself as possible because he claims that he's never managed to cook anything but microwavable hotpockets), tofu burgers with sweet potato fries and citrus salad for dinner (all Rachel's doing, obviously), Digiorno's lunch the next day (and Rachel has to find her own food), and a burrito bar for dinner the next day, which has basically limited their cooking for dinner tonight (much to Finn's relief and Rachel's slight disdain. However, Rachel Barbra Berry is a rational person and there will be many other opportunities to prove her culinary talents as she coaxes Finn Hudson out of his comfort zone—which she will inevitably do, she assures herself).

Finn hurriedly washes his hands and then stands nervously behind her, eyeing the cartons of tofu.

"Okay, Finn," Rachel says, clapping her hands to her hips. "What I need you to do first is wash the lettuce for the salad, okay? We won't put on the dressing until later, but we may as well start prepping it. I'm going to cut the sweet potatoes to make fries."

Finn nods eagerly, and Rachel turns to get a cutting board and knife. She hears the water turn on, and hums as she cuts into a fleshy, orange sweet potato.

She hums to herself, and then starts belting out songs (a good number of them from _The Sound of Music—_she has to prepare herself for her lead after all), losing herself in what she's doing. All of the sudden, she's interrupted by a voice, "You're really good, Rachel. I mean, you can really sing."

A flush of delight rising to her face, she turns to see Finn who gives her a hitched smile. His eyes crinkle up with joy and he practically glows at her, as if mesmerized by her voice.

"Thank you!" Rachel practically squeals. She tries not to get too excited because she knows how talented she really is, but it is quite a different thing when another person also understands her unbridled skill. "I like to think so, but a lot of people don't appreciate or recognize my talent, probably because they're just jealous of my innate ability to create wondrous, magical melodies and _what are you doing?_" Her burst of gratitude is interrupted as she glances at Finn's technique of washing the lettuce.

Finn has taken the organic bushels of beautiful, dark green Romaine lettuce and is washing them—with _soap—_in hot water (Rachel can tell it's hot because she sees swirls of steam above the sink and Finn is wearing a raggedy pair of yellow dishwashing gloves—which they also picked up on their journey to the grocery store).

Finn drops the head of lettuce into the sink with a small jump of surprise.

"I... I'm washing the lettuce?" he says hesitantly, looking slightly sheepishly and guiltily at Rachel.

Rachel takes a deep breath and tries to maintain her composure. Honestly? She wants to scream and kick and yell and berate him for destroying the organic vegetables for which she so painstakingly searched, but what would that do? The lettuce would still be limp and soapy and Finn would just be sad and they would just revert to their previous state of hating each other (well sure it was more Rachel hating Finn, but _still.)_

So instead of throwing a fit like she usually would, she swallows her angry words and says in what she hopes is a patient voice, "Finn, I'll do that. Why don't you just take care of the tofu? And just for future reference, you shouldn't use soap—just cold water is fine." (And Kurt says she can't be _mature.)_

Rachel finishes cutting her sweet potato and turns the cold water on in the sink, trying to salvage what she can of the lettuce.

"I'm sorry," Finn says in a genuinely apologetic voice. He glances at Rachel nervously, his eyes huge and sad in his face, and looks down at his hands, nearly wringing them in distress.

"Finn, it's okay," Rachel replies tersely as she tries to revive the wilted pieces of lettuce.

She's surprised at how short her statement is (Kurt usually has to tell her to "shut-the-fuck-up Rachel, how on earth am I supposed to hear myself think with you blabbering on like a real housewife of Orange County—though I have to say they have much better fashion sense than you and I'm losing my train of thought now Rachel, thanks a lot," while Blaine cringes by the side wheedling, "Kurt, come on honey, she's not that talkative—not that much more than you," and Kurt replies, "Are you taking her side now? Well_ I _know who's getting _nothing_ tonight," to Blaine's whimper of despair and subsequent anger at Rachel).

How on earth is she supposed to prepare a citrus salad with _this?_

"Just open that package of tofu," she orders Finn, and starts singing again to rest her nerves. Her notes come out weathered and broken as she stares at the lettuce in despair when she realizes Finn's asking her a question.

"So when will you know if you have the part? In the play, I mean," he asks meekly, as Rachel takes the soaking lettuce out of the sink to cut it.

"I'll find out Tuesday," Rachel replies, surprising herself at her civility. "It's actually really early... callbacks were just posted today and they're all on Monday and we'll find out everything from there."

"Did you try out for anything last year?" Finn continues conversationally. He seems to be struggling with the plastic seal on the tofu, but Rachel will let him figure it out. She starts to dry some of the lettuce to wipe the soap off of it and that's taking up most of her attention.

"_A Chorus Line_," Rachel murmurs, a little despondently. She remembered how that audition went and how she was crushed at not getting a single speaking role. She had been cast as... a member of the chorus line, and had (admittedly) cried for two weeks afterwards until she finally decided to suck it up and make the best of it. That was the first time she was in a production with Jesse St. James, who played Paul San Marco, a gay boy with a heartbreaking story. Of course, Jesse had won over the audience, bringing it to tears with his riveting performance, while Rachel was a lowly chorus line member who was only in one scene and who slipped out of the theater after-party in embarrassment because she didn't want Jesse to know who she was before she was cast in a major role. (She couldn't be dismissed by him, she just _couldn't!)_ "I didn't get a part but I will get it for sure, this year, Finn! I swear it, and Jesse will finally notice me too." (She doesn't mention the slight interaction they had in the hallway because Jesse hasn't spoken to her since except to whisper, "Break a leg!" before her initial audition which left her stomach in knots and her palms sweaty).

"Who's Jesse?" Finn questions, his forehead creasing in distress. He looks up from where he's still wrestling with the tofu to meet Rachel's eyes.

"_Jesse St. James_," Rachel automatically replies, her voice dreamy. "He's perfect. He's an incredible performer and he's absurdly talented in all possible areas and I just _know _that his name is going to be in the lights one day. He's _amazing._" (Usually Rachel tries to stay away from using generic words like "fantastic" and "incredible," but what else can she use to describe Jesse? Perfect is perfect, right?)

She closes her eyes and her thoughts drift to Jesse, with his tousled, light brown hair and charming smile and his flawless skin. She almost doesn't hear Finn's voice.

"Is that the douchebag who was late to Calculus?" Finn mutters, his eyes glinting with something Rachel can't quite discern. He squeezes the tofu almost dangerously and Rachel can see the white, spongy food squish in his hands.

"He's not a douchebag!" Rachel almost screams automatically and ridiculously defensively. "Who are you to judge, Finn? He's handsome and talented and has a wonderful voice and is intelligent and well-spoken—you're just _jealous _because he is so much _better than you!" _

There's a squelching sound, and both Rachel gasps in horror as she realizes that the block of tofu has practically launched itself out of Finn's hands, missing the plate Finn had aimed for completely, and landed instead onto the floor with a loud splat.

The next five minutes are spent with Finn chasing the brick-shaped, slimy tofu lump around the kitchen. Surprisingly, the tofu is particularly elusive and Finn slips on the slippery trail, landing straight onto his ass. A stream of cuss words are emitted from his mouth like an endless waterfall, and Rachel would be more distraught if she wasn't so frustrated at the ludicrousness of this whole situation.

Crumpling down to floor in despair, she stuffs her face in her fingers and practices breathing, calmly and slowly.

She has to stay calm. Yes, Finn had no right to call Jesse a douchebag, especially when he doesn't know him at all (and yes, Rachel doesn't know Jesse very well at all either, but that's beside the point), but she shouldn't have said all those things about Jesse being better than him. Because even though it seems as though it's been a lifetime with all of the stupid things he keeps doing, she's know Finn for what? Four days? Four days isn't enough time to make a good judgment about someone and he told her he didn't know how to cook and she really needs to be more patient with him because she's tired of Kurt calling her a bitch and Puck hitting on her and Mike being scared of everything, and all these damn boys in this shitty _Estate_. She's so _frustrated _with this entire living situation, but she has to stick it out. She is Rachel Barbra Berry and she's dealt with things more complicated than this and she's going to face more challenges in the future so she may as well start working things out now.

After Rachel finishes hyperventilating, she glance up to see a mortified Finn holding scraps of tofu in his hands. The gelatinous tofu is now coated in strings around Finn's fingers, broken up into little hideous chunks and Finn is panting like he's out of breath from chasing the "damn tofu monster" (that's what he calls it, not her) around the kitchen.

And Rachel doesn't know what comes over her, but she starts to laugh. She giggles until her stomach hurts and she can't hear anything but her peals of laughter. Finn looks at her in shock, probably thinking that she's bipolar or has gone crazy or something. Rachel realizes he was probably expecting her to scold him and scream at him some more, and the fact that she's gone against his very expectations seems so funny and only makes her laugh more. Pretty soon Finn is on his knees on the kitchen tile laughing too, and they chuckle and guffaw until they are spread on the kitchen floor.

Rachel's eyes are squeezed shut as she wipes away tears of mirth, just thinking about Finn washing the lettuce with dish soap and chasing the lump of tofu around and how Kurt is going to _kill _them, but it feels so good to let loose. Next to her, Finn literally rolls on the floor laughing, the decibels of his laughter only increasing when he realizes he's sitting on the other block of tofu and the seat of his pants are soaking wet as a result.

"What the _hell _is going on?" comes a screech, and Rachel and Finn look up guiltily from the floor where they're doubled up with laughter to see a pissed-off, shrilly voiced Kurt, his usually perfectly coiffed hair mussed and his cheeks coloring pink with anger.

Finn's eyes meet Rachel's.

"Run!" he yelps, and grabs her by the hand dragging her from the kitchen. They flee from the kitchen, bound up the stairs, and lock themselves in Finn's room, away from the grasp of the ferocious Kurt. They can hear Blaine trying to calm down his incensed boyfriend outside, and Rachel sits down on Finn's bed, her face mortified.

"I can't believe you destroyed dinner," she says a bit accusingly.

Finn sits down on his bed next to her and pulls her into his lap. Usually, Rachel would protest, but she's exhausted after all that laughter and disastrous cooking. Besides, she kind of likes the feeling of Finn's broad chest against her back and the beat of his heart thudding against her body.

"Excuse me, _we _destroyed dinner," Finn murmurs with a bright grin, and Rachel chuckles in spite of herself.

"I didn't mean what I said," Rachel says, spewing out the words before she can think about them. "You shouldn't have called Jesse a douchebag because he isn't one, but I don't know him that well and I.. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Finn whispers, wrapping his arms around her, "I'm sorry too."

* * *

><p>The tofu can't be salvaged so they end up having two sandwich bars that day. Rachel makes do with an avocado and sprouts sandwich and they split the tomato soup between lunch and dinner that day too.<p>

Kurt throws a fit about having to eat the same meals twice in a row and has to be calmed down by Blaine (who is perfectly content with a turkey sandwich, thank-you-very-much), but the rest of the boys don't seem to mind.

Rachel sits at the dining table and is quiet (for once), a bit horrified at how her ideal dinner panned out.

Kurt forces them to clean the tofu and the sweet potatoes and the lettuce and whatever shit is on the ground off of the kitchen floor and claims he has to go lie down and have some aspirin and "no, Blaine, we can't have sex tonight because we obviously selected the wrong housemates and living with them is like living with five-year-olds."

Rachel and Finn walk to the kitchen like punished puppies with their tails between their legs and start the clean-up.

It's quiet for the most part, but every once in awhile Rachel's eyes meet Finn's and he winks, and she smiles and giggles a little giddily in spite of herself.

Maybe she and Finn can be friends after all.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: ANDDDDD the FINCHEL begins! Who's excited for the return of _Glee?_ I know I am! My brother bought me _Glee _Season 1 for Christmas and watching the "Faithfully" performance as well as Jesse egging Rachel gave me some inspiration!

I know Kurt is super bitchy and Blaine is super Hufflepuffy-y, and I'll work on it!

Here are my responses to the anonymous reviews (that are long enough to reply to) :)

_bueller_: Lengthy reviews like yours are the best! Thank you so much. Haha I'm ALWAYS a Hufflepuff. Literally, I always am and have come to accept it as fate because errrdaayy I'm hufflin'. Lol lol lol. Thank you so much. Thanks for also recommending that the story start taking some direction. I definitely have some kind of idea of where the story is going, but sometimes I start rambling a lot with my writing and it ends up being a lot longer than initially planned (which I suppose is good?) Anyways, don't worry... we'll start getting more into the love triangle soon!

_finchelislove_: I hope the nurse!Rachel was good enough for you here, as well as the beginning of Finchel :) I'm glad you like the Pre-Finn Rachel because she is pretty crazy and fun to write.

_melmin_: Thank you so much for everything! I know, bleehhh! college, I go back next week D:

_sarfatibieber_: Thank you so much for the review! Hope you enjoyed this chapter

_LastToFirst: _To be quite honest, I kind of modeled nerdy Sam after what I would like in a boy lol. and yessss, Rachel would be a Slytherin alright. Ryan Murphy should write a _Harry Potter _episode of _Glee_ IMO.

_Taylore_: Thank you so much; it means so much to hear that you like my story. Oh gosh, I think Rachel is like a permanently crazy PMS-y bitch the way I write her... eep! And thank you for letting me realize that my characters probably need more dimension. Glad you like nerdy Harry Potter Sam!

_MaryMargaret_: This chapter's a little longer than the last? Haha, I'm sorry I update so sporadically but maybe my New Year's resolution can be to update more regularly? Lol :)

_love_: Hahaha oh Finnigan, thank you for reading (and reassuring me about my writing skills)

_hi_: I'll take your suggestion into consideration; thanks for the input

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-sf


	9. of leading ladies

**Author's Note**: Hi my dear readers! I apologize so much for the delay but to make it up to you, this chapter is extra long... well at least it was an extra page more than usual on Microsoft Word :) Thank you so, so, so much for your reviews/favorites/alerts, etc. It means so much to me and I am so, so glad that you're enjoying this! What did you guys think of the mid-season finale? AHHH so much drama right? Ahh

Shout outs to MBattenburg and i-am-a-nerdfighter for absolutely incredible reviews :)

**Summary**: All Rachel wants to do is survive college and become a star, but now she's living in a messed up fairy tale with seven, socially inept boys, who are proving to be quite the distraction. Finchel, Klaine AU

**Warnings**: sexual content, language, possible self-harm, abuse, attempted rape

**Rating**: M (to be safe)

**Genre**: Romance/Humor/Drama

**Pairings**: Finn/Rachel (Finchel), Kurt/Blaine (Klaine), Tina/Mike (Tike), Quinn/Puck (Quick), and so on and so forth as my wicked mind plots away

* * *

><p><strong>CRACKEDLY EVER AFTER<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine<strong>

_of leading ladies_

She can't believe it. Her heart speeds up in her chest as she stands there, looking at the name on the clean, crisp paper under the beautifully scripted title, _The Sound of Music_. The font has just enough flair to be glamorous and yet just enough restraint to be classy.

And there it is.

Maria_..._Rachel Berry

Rachel stands there, rereading the name over and over again. Rachel Berry. Rachel Berry. Maria. Rachel Berry. Maria. That's _her._

She feels a friendly slap on her back, and she's so dizzy with excitement and disbelief it takes all of her effort not to fall over.

"Great job, Rachel! Congratulations!" comes a joyful, thickly accented Irish voice.

Rachel turns around to see a wide, beaming grin from Rory Flanagan. Rory's a pleasant, boyish-looking student who's in one of Rachel's voice classes. She also knows him as one of the new kids who just auditioned for the New Directions. (She's been meaning to email him his callback for the acapella group but with all that's been happening with _The Sound of Music _auditions, she's almost forgotten).

"Thank you, Rory!" Rachel manages to squeal (in a rather undignified way, but give her this moment of glory, damn it, okay?) She squeaks, clenching her fists in unrestrained joy. "Are you in the play too?"

"Yeah!" Rory says, his teeth white and bright and his ocean-colored eyes flashing merrily. He pulls his hand through his coppery, shiny hair. "I was casted as Rolfe. I'm awfully excited to work with Tina."

"Tina's in the play as well?" Rachel asks, struggling to contain her enthusiasm. She doesn't have many friends or know many people who are nice to her at school other than Blaine and possibly Finn, Artie, Sam, and Mike, but Tina is one of the nicer girls. She's kind of shy but she always waves to Rachel when they see each other on campus, and Rachel is more than happy to work with her. Rachel's chest heaves at the effort of trying to cap the surge of pure bliss racing through her right now, and she feels momentarily guilty that she didn't look to see who else has been casted in the play. She glances sheepishly at the list, really taking in the cast she's going to be working with.

Underneath her name, there's the following list:

Captain Von Trapp_..._Jesse St. James

Mother Abbess..._..._Mercedes Jones

The Baroness_..._Quinn Fabray

Max Detweiler...Wesley Leung

Liesl Von Trapp_..._Tina Cohen-Chang

Friedrich Von Trapp_..._Sebastian Smythe

Louisa Von Trapp_..._Sugar Motta

Kurt Von Trapp_..._Joe Hart

Brigitta Von Trapp_..._Lauren Zizes

Marta Von Trapp_..._April Rhodes

Gretl Von Trapp_._...Brittany Pierce

Rolfe_..._Rory Flanagan

Oh my God. This is actually real.

Rachel skims the cast list again. She hasn't met the majority of the cast, but she's heard of them at least in passing. She knows Mercedes from her voice class, Tina from the New Directions, and Jesse. Kind of. For some reason, the name Sebastian Smythe sounds familiar and she's heard that Sugar Motta is one of those trust-fund kids, so maybe her dad bought her a part in the play. Quinn Fabray is an evil bitch who has taken it upon herself to make Rachel miserable throughout her college years, and Rachel will just have to suck it up and work with her. The Baroness is a fitting part for Quinn for sure. (Both of them are cold-hearted and beautiful, Rachel thinks a bit bitterly). Rachel's heard Blaine mention Wesley before (apparently they went to the same high school?) but other than that the cast is just as fresh-faced and new as she is.

Rachel thinks back to her auditions. The musical theater teacher directing this play, Will Schuester, is a tall, slim man with a friendly smile and laughing eyes and ridiculously curly hair. She remembers how he was a little nervous but put no restraint on his eagerness about directing his first college play. He'd brought in his fiancee, a petite, fragile looking woman with a shocking burst of reddish-orange hair and wide eyes and a timid, but very sweet personality, to watch the auditions. Apparently, his fiancee—Emma Pillsbury, Rachel thinks her name is, had requested that they do _The Sound of Music _and at this moment, with elation on high and the star role in her grasp, Rachel thinks this woman and her husband might be the most wonderful people she's ever met.

And she just can't wait to get started.

* * *

><p>"Daddy! Is Dad there?"<p>

"Hi songbird! How are you, Rachel?"

"Daddy! I'm Maria! I got cast as Maria!"

"..."

"Daddy, are you crying?"

"No, of course I'm not..."

"Daddy? I just heard you sniffle-"

"Okay, I'm crying! I'm so proud of you, Rachel! You're such a huge star and Dad and I cannot wait to see you! We're so excited! I had no doubts of course that you'd get the part, but Dad was a little uncertain and... congratulations, sweetheart! You go out there and get them, okay? I love you!"

* * *

><p>"Psst, Finn!" Rachel hisses, trying to get the boy's attention.<p>

She's in Calculus, and Finn is in front of her as usual, hunched over his desk. From the steady rise and fall of the line of his broad shoulders and the telltale gentle snores, Rachel thinks he might be sleeping. She will not have this for two reasons: 1) because sleeping in class is detrimental to Finn's studies and subsequently her performance in Calculus since she's forced to rely on his notes, and 2) because she very much wants to tell him about the recent revelation of her role as Maria.

He needs to wake up.

"Finn Hudson!" she hmmphs angrily, as Professor Tanaka starts drawing graphs on the board and talking about limits. "Finn!" She pokes him hard in the back with her finger so that he shakes and looks up in shock. His hair stands up in spikes on his head, and she thinks for a second that he might have been drooling.

"Wha-?" he mutters, wiping the sleep from his exhausted looking eyes. "Rachel?"

"Finn, guess what?" Rachel whispers excitedly. "Guess what!"

"Miss Berry, do we have a problem here?" comes Professor Tanaka's gravelly, serious voice. Rachel looks up from her notebook to meet Professor Tanaka's impatient looking expression, and glances sheepishly back down at her desk.

"No Professor," she mutters in reply, her face flushing in embarrassment. Being called out for being a bad student in Calculus was not on her agenda for the day, but then again, has the year gone at all as planned? "I'm sorry."

Professor Tanaka mutters something under his breath, and turns back to the whiteboard. He writes the definition of the derivative on the board, and Rachel strains to see over Finn's frame.

She notices Finn scrawling something down, and hopes he'll copy his notes for her again later. Calculus will be the death of her, she swears. And what for? Calculus has no bearing on her theatricality as a performer—she is a wonderful, skillful actress and Calculus can go "suck it" (please excuse her crude language) for all she cares.

She's a little taken aback when Finn slips her a shredded piece of lined paper. Scribbled a little sloppily is, "_Hey Rach, Sorry about that. I'm really tired from football conditioning. Here's my number—text me. 555-9033 ;-)"_

Pleased, Rachel stealthily pulls out her cellphone, a bedazzled, jeweled pink cellphone studded with gold star stickers (if you haven't caught on by now, gold stars are kind of her thing). Smiling to herself, she hides the phone in her lap as she carefully texts, "_Hi Finn, this is Rachel. I was cast as Maria!"_

She hears Finn's deep intake of breath before she sees his fingers dashing over his own cellphone. Several seconds later her phone vibrates as it receives a text. "_NO WAY RACHEL! CONGRATS! That's amazing! Remember to save me a ticket, okay? LET'S CELEBRATE TONIGHT! I'll buy you frozen yogurt or something."_

After her initial shock at Finn's vigor, Rachel's face breaks out in an overjoyed expression. "_I'd love to! I know a really good place that sells vegan yogurt—and they have dairy products too in case you don't like it. Thank you so much Finn. It means a lot to me!"_

Going out on a limb, she adds a "_3_" and sends that after. Finn turns around in his chair and gives her one of his lopsided grins that she's become accustomed to in their few days of knowing each other, his eyes looking significantly less exhausted as he seems to be in high spirits.

Rachel glances down at her desk and tries to ignore the blush that spreads over her cheek. She moves her gaze away from Finn's face and manages to make eye contact with Jesse St. James across the classroom. He gives her a seductive wink, and Rachel flames an even darker shade of pink.

This day cannot get any better.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Celine Dion,<em>

_Before you tear and crumple up this letter, please just take a few minutes of your time to read it. I am quite aware that your time is very valuable and I know that you have filed a restraining order against me and for some reason find my unbridled enthusiasm about you and your talent "creepy" and "stalkerish," but please, please, please, I am begging you, please just read this._

_As you know from the letters I sent you during my high school years, my name is Rachel Barbra Berry. I have attached my most recent headshot and I think it is quite true to my actual appearance—yes, I value dental hygiene very much so my teeth are actually that blindingly white, and my eyes are always that bright and yes, my hair is a very glossy shade of chocolate brown. Rachel Barbra Berry is a name that I would like to say you should not forget because one day my name will be painted bright in the lights and my shows will be sold out and I will know you on a personal rather than a fan-celebrity basis. One day we will perform together and simultaneously one of my life ambitions and an item on my bucket list will come true. Ms. Dion, I idolize you. You are so poised and your voice is so powerful and you are such a strong, female role model, and this is why I am coming to you to ask your advice._

_First off you should know that I am making progress towards fame and fortune. I have just been cast as Maria in my university's production of "The Sound of Music." I am so very excited and yes, I will mail you two tickets—one for you and a special guest of your choosing—when the date of the show comes around. If it is not too much to ask and if you're not busy opening some grand awards show, I would love to see you there._

_Part of my enthusiasm—I must admit—comes from the fact that my dream man is starring as Captain Von Trapp. His name is Jesse St. James and between us women, he is a heartthrob ;-) His voice makes my lady parts tingle and my heart thump in my chest and my throat close up. I cannot wait for our first practice kiss! I nearly faint in excitement every time I think about whether his lips will actually be that soft. And before you ask, I am very good at balancing my professional and personal life—I will not let my feelings for Jesse interfere with my stunning performance and my diligent portrayal of Maria._

_In other news, this year has brought some not-so-thrilling adjustments. First, my ex-best friend and roommate Santana kicked me out, forcing me to move in with a group of seven, very uncivilized boys. I really hope that Jesse doesn't think less of my integrity because of this! The boys are all very sloppy and childish—I have to explain that I was roped into this living arrangement by my best friend, Kurt, and his boyfriend, Blaine—and now, unfortunately, I am quite stuck._

_There's this one boy in the house—Finn Hudson—oh Celine, how you would disapprove of him so much! In spite of his good lucks—which I will have to admit, God was very generous when he was making Finn—the boy drives me almost crazy. The first time we met, he walked in on me naked emerging from the shower! I screamed, unfortunately—evidently I do not have your poise or your experience dealing with men yet, but I know that this in time will come. Ever since, he's been so nervous and jumpy around me and he always flushes this truly adorable shade of pink and his hitched smile tugs up at the corner of his mouth and we're friends now, I admit, but dear me, I'm getting carried away! I'm sorry, Celine, I've already taken up so much of your time—I don't mean to go on._

_Anyway, I suppose what this letter is asking is if you could offer any advice on achieving my dreams. Like you, Celine, I am a strong woman (and I am not just referring to my voice), and I know what I want. I am just waiting for someone else to notice it._

_Yours,_

_Rachel Barbra Berry_

_P.S. I attached an autograph to this letter so that when I'm famous in the future, you can tell people I always idolized you._

* * *

><p>Rachel's still on a high when she finishes her classes. Bursting into the house, she uncharacteristically drops her bag on the floor. Beaming from ear to ear, she tries to find Kurt who she texted about the news earlier that day.<p>

"Kurt?" she pushes her way into his room. Luckily Blaine has classes late today, so she knows she won't be walking in on the two boys canoodling (thank God). "Kurt?"

Kurt isn't in his bedroom, so Rachel pushes her way into Sam's room. The lean boy is standing on his bed as he tacks up a yellow and black sign declaring, "_Hufflepuff Pride/Every day I'm Hufflin'" _on his wall. It seems as though Sam Evans has accepted his Hufflepuff roots and is publicly representing his Hogwarts house, Rachel notes, as she takes in the yellow and black striped scarf wrapped around his neckk. Well, she thinks, in spite of his nerdiness he's probably the most harmless boy in the house... well maybe he's tied with Mike, who hardly ever speaks, and Artie, who can't do much damage from his wheelchair.

"Sam! I got the part!" Rachel squeals, and Sam glances over as he finishes tacking up the poster.

"Maria? Congrats Rachel!" Sam nearly shouts in excitement. He jumps down from his bed and wraps Rachel in an easy embrace. A little surprised, Rachel returns the hug, and Sam takes her by the shoulders and looks in her eyes. "Lle ier maite, Rachel."

At Rachel's look of confusion, Sam hurriedly translates. "That's Elvish for 'you are skilled.'"

"Thanks Sam," Rachel says brightly. She glances around Sam's room and notices that the Hufflepuff poster is not the only one that has been tacked up. Sam's walls are covered top to bottom with posters ranging from The Lord of the Rings to Harry Potter to Avatar to The Hunger Games (evidently Sam doesn't give a damn about Peeta or Gale but he definitely likes Katniss).

"Do you like it?" Sam asks, gesturing out his arms to point at different posters and objects in his room. "I've been working since we moved in and I think I'm almost done."

"It's... nice," Rachel manages. "I see you like the fantasy genre a lot."

"You can say that," Sam replies brightly. He points out a poster of two hobbits. "Sam's my favorite character in _The Lord of the Rings._ I guess you can see why though," he snickers as though he's made a very clever joke. Rachel tries to suppress her giggle but it escapes anyways.

"What other activities have you been engaging in?" Rachel changes the subject. "What are you interested in?" She suddenly realizes that for the amount of time as she spends with the boys, she doesn't really know what makes them tick, what makes them excited. Other than Kurt, of course, who she knows will kill people to watch _Project Runway _and who loves musicals and fashion and Lady Gaga.

"Umm well," Sam scratches his head a bit nervously. "I'm a Computer Science and Creative Writing double major so hopefully I can design my own video games and write my own stories one day. And I know how to play the guitar?" he gives an offhand shrug to a beautiful acoustic guitar in the corner. It's a glossy brown, and Rachel's eyes widen in wonder.

"Oh Sam! You can play guitar?" Sam has instantly redeemed himself as far as she's concerned.

"Yeah!" Sam's voice arches as he gets more excited and responds to the positivity Rachel's giving him. He sounds more self-assured, "I mean I'm alright—I teach myself to play a lot by ear and-"

"Sam! Rachel!" comes a sharp voice Rachel automatically recognizes as Kurt's. "It's meeting time!"

Kurt stands in the doorway, dressed in a pressed, ruffled cream-colored blouse, silver boots that reach his knees, and black leggings so tight Rachel thinks they might be illegal. In his hand, he waves the talking wand—apparently the disgust at the stick from various members of the house did not affect Kurt's decision to dictate everyone with it. "Come downstairs, guys. You can talk later."

Rachel is about to offer an angry retort when Kurt's eyes soften. "And congratulations, Rachel. Nobody deserved Maria more than you."

With that, Kurt turns on the heels of his silver boots and heads downstairs. Rachel swallows the words she was going to say, and trailed by Sam, heads out of the room and downstairs for meeting.

As always, this should be interesting.

* * *

><p>"Why are we having a meeting?" Artie questions, wheeling himself into the circle of boys plus Rachel. He holds his black glove-clad hands in front of him in defense. "Not that I mind, but is there a purpose for this, Kurt?"<p>

"Ask Puck," Kurt says, his voice firm. Next to him, Blaine is cradling Kurt's hand and staring at him, enamored, as though he's just walked on water. Rachel absentmindedly thinks that maybe one day Jesse will look at her like that.

"Puck?" Artie turns his eyes to Noah, who's knotting his hands together in either nervousness or anger—Rachel can't tell. Maybe it's a combination of both.

"Yeah, so we have a huge fucking problem," Noah spits. His hazel eyes narrow and his mohawk seems to stand straight up on one end. Rachel decides it's anger, alright.

"What? Problem?" Mike looks up in alarm from where he's assembling organic chemistry models. A thick textbook is spread out on his lap. "What's the matter? Is everybody okay?"

"Calm the fuck down, Chang," Noah growls at Mike. "Everyone's fine so don't get your panties into a bunch."

Mike cowers behind his textbook and looks up in terror at everyone in the circle. Rachel decides Mike's the most timid person she's ever met in her life. She pats him gently on the shoulder in consolation and Mike gives her a hesitant smile in return.

"Wait, so Puck, if everyone's okay and here and safe then what's the problem?" Finn asks. He looks exhausted. Rachel's gathered that his football practices run pretty late every day, and evidently college football is much more grueling than high school football. Finn looks about a million times as tired as the football players at Rachel's high school looked. Then again, she also went to a performing arts high school where football was a joke and her high school's team lost every game.

Finn notices Rachel staring at him, and grins gently at her.

"Well the problem is I tried to get this one girl to come over-" Noah starts.

"What's her name?" Rachel interrupts automatically, wondering if it might be one of the many girls who tries to make her life miserable.

Noah scoffs, staring at her in disbelief. "Umm, Berry, does it even _matter_?"

Before Rachel can collect her thoughts and deliver a feminist tirade of how sexist Noah's comment is and how women deserve better treatment and mutual respect, Blaine interrupts. "Puck, that was highly uncalled for and since we're all living together, we need to get along. What you said was offensive to Rachel and women everywhere, but before we get into this, what's the problem? Can we get to the point?"

Kurt looks at Blaine as though he's just found a way to end world hunger. "Honey, that was beautiful-"

Before Kurt can finish, an angry howl bursts its way from Noah's throat. "EVERYBODY THINKS WE'RE GAY!"

All of the boys plus Rachel look at Noah in shock.

"What do you mean, Puck?" Sam whispers tentatively, reaching for the talking wand which has long been forgotten. He holds up the stick in a trembling hand, a frightened expression plastered on his face.

Noah sighs, rolling his eyes as though he's doing a huge favor for everyone in the circle. "Everybody thinks we're gay. I mean, I was talking to this girl—no, Berry, I don't know her name, okay? Bite me—and I was hinting that she come over and '_do homework_' if you get what I mean," at this, he winks and makes an obscene gesture with his hands that makes Rachel (and Mike) cringe, "and all she had to say was," Noah arches his voice into a falsetto, "'Oh, it's so nice to have a boy as a friend! All straight boys are so insensitive and just want to get into your pants. But I guess you know what they say—all good men are either taken or gay!' And then she slaps me on the arm like we're chums or something and asks me if I can help her choose out shoes next week."

By this point, Noah is waving his arms dramatically and almost theatrically in frustration, and his deep-set hazel eyes are wide with horror in his face. "Can you believe that? She thought _I _was_ gay_!"

Kurt gives Noah a disgruntled, warning look, but Noah seems to ignore it and continues on his rant. "I don't mind gay people, okay? That's not the problem here. But me... _me_ gay? I'm the Puckasaurus. I can get a girl undressed in less time than it takes you to say 'horny.' I've banged girls a lot hotter and seen women much older naked, and this crazy bitch thinks I like dick? God, don't you guys see? How are we ever going to get women if they think we're all homos?"

Blaine looks horrified at the last statement, but before he can speak, Mike butts in. "Puck, this might just be a fluke though? I'm sure not _everyone _thinks we're _all _gay-"

"Chang, shut the fuck up! You don't understand. It's not just her—it's been different girls at different times. Today I asked one of those slutty sorority girls to come over and she brought _Brokeback Mountain _and _Rent _for us to watch together because she enjoys a male who can be sensitive. My reputation is going down the toilet—how the fuck am I going to get laid? I haven't had sex in," Noah glances at his fingers, counting, his forehead folded in lines of distress, "three days! My dick is just gonna shrivel up and I'm going to lose my ability to father any offspring and the Puckerman legacy will just end with me!" He throws up his hands dramatically. "She thought I was just going back to the house to have a huge sausage fest and a grand old time!"

Rachel is shocked but also bordering on the edge of hysteria. Forcing herself not to laugh, she looks around the circle, taking in the boys one by one. Mike looks rather devastated, still clutching onto his organic chemistry book; Sam appears positively green as he grasps the talking wand hard in his fingers; Artie is staring bemusedly at the floor, kicking his feet listlessly against his wheelchair; Blaine and Kurt simply look amused, but Blaine has a glint of slight worry in his eyes; and Finn has a look of utter shock on his face. Noah's disgust at the whole situation goes without saying.

"What do you want us to do about this?" Rachel's voice quavers tentatively as she breaks the tense silence.

"Isn't it obvious?" Artie perks up, pushing his thick-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I mean, the answer is right there in front of us." He places his hands, wide-open, on his knees.

"Care to enlighten us Professor X?" Noah scoffs sarcastically. If Artie notices the animosity in Noah's voice, he doesn't comment on it.

"The men of this house need to up our street cred. The solution's simple," Artie continues, looking at all of his housemates as though they're idiots and he's Einstein. He pauses dramatically. "We have to throw a party."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's<strong> **Note**: Yay! I love Rory and Joe so you may see a lot of them coming up :) and I also love, love, love Tina. Quinn will be fun to work with and so will Brittany so I'm excited to see what's in store. So many ideas! I'm sorry if this chapter was boring or had too much filler :(

Replies to anonymous reviews (that make sense to reply to):

_bueller_: Thank you so much for your review. Haha I hope this chapter was long enough for you! And aghhh Finchel... we'll see what happens with St. Berry. I'm excited to delve into writing Jesse and Rachel's relationship. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

_Ianthe_: D'awww Sam is one of my favorites! Here's more-I hope you're enjoying!

_Taylore_: Hahha poor Finn, everybody enjoys his stupidity. I'm glad you got a kick out of last chapter and hope you enjoyed this one!

_FinchelSamAreHeaven4me_: aha great username! Lol I hate Jesse too, it's okay. He's fun to write though! You didn't hurt my feelings at all-I already have what I'm planning to write figured out, so I hope you don't mind that I'm not going to use your ideas. :)

_hey_: Haha I'm glad you enjoyed the tofu battle. Yeah, Kurt is definitely kind of the mom of the house and I've liked writing him as a sassy gay friend ;) I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

_Maia Flynn_: Thanks so much for the feedback! I hope you're enjoying it! And we don't know about Finn's girlfriend(s) yet :P

_CharminKelsey18: _Haha Sam's the best! I'm a huge Harry Potter nerd and Lord of the Rings and everything so it's easy for me to write him. I'm glad that you're liking the story so far! Sorry this update was so late!

_FinchelFan278: _thanks for the review!

_hey: _: I guess you'll just have to read more to find out! Haha... Finn is not cast as Captain Von Trapp as you can see.

_FINCHELFREAK: _Sorry it took so long! Here's the update!

_gleek4finn_: The answer to your question! It's here!

_nicky: _Thank you so much! I hope you keep reading!

Story Stats-

Story Hits: 18,866

Story Favorites: 97

Story Alerts: 194

The more you review, the more motivated I will be to update!

-sf


	10. of party planning

**Author's Note**: EEEEP! Finals got me down! I just finished my sophomore year of college and I'm a junior now... what? I've realized I uploaded the first chapter almost a year ago which is crazy! Thanks so much for reading and sticking by me, guys :)

The FINALE WHAT DID YOU THINK? It really motivated me to update, so here we go :)

BLOWN AWAY BY YOUR REVIEWS :)

Thanks to EVERYONE who reviewed. Your words mean so much to me.

**Summary**: All Rachel wants to do is survive college and become a star, but now she's living in a messed up fairy tale with seven, socially inept boys, who are proving to be quite the distraction. Finchel, Klaine AU

**Warnings**: sexual content, language, possible self-harm, abuse, attempted rape

**Rating**: M (to be safe)

**Genre**: Romance/Humor/Drama

**Pairings**: Finn/Rachel (Finchel), Kurt/Blaine (Klaine), Tina/Mike (Tike), Quinn/Puck (Quick), and so on and so forth as my wicked mind plots away

* * *

><p><strong>Crackedly Ever After<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ten<strong>

_party planning_

"We have to throw a party."

With Artie's statement, the room suddenly explodes with unexpected and unprecedented noise. Rachel nearly falls back from her position on the floor from the burst of excitement that seemingly stampedes at her from out of nowhere. The boys are like a force of nature, honestly.

"Abrams, that's actually fucking brilliant-" comes Noah's approving, manly and gravelly voice. "Props to you, dude—you've got a lot of balls and swag for a guy in a wheelchair and all. I'll get us a lot of booze-"

"How does my swag decrease because I'm in a wheelchair?" Artie objects, but he's overshadowed by Finn.

"Finally! A party!" emerges Finn's excited voice from the clamour of excited shouts. He's almost trembling in anticipation, Rachel notes. She finds his reaction more endearing and adorable than she should. "Football season's been so busy I haven't been able to go to any-"

"A party?" Blaine cries excitedly, clasping his hands together in a rather effeminate way. His eyes are so huge they look like they'll pop out of his head. "I can finally break out that martini set that Wes got me last Christmas that Kurt says is ludicrous! But I can-"

"Honey, those martini glasses are shorter than the length of my finger span! No one gets drunk off of those except you, my dear one-shot wonder," Kurt protests, placing a light hand on Blaine's shoulder, "you're a lightweight, Blaine, and while I do love it and come to appreciate it as you are a—in the classiest way possible—cheap date, I don't know that-"

"I can make butterbeer!" Sam howls, eyes lighting up wildly as though he's just received an acceptance letter from Hogwarts. "It tastes like drinking happiness with a buzz!"

"Will we get arrested?" Mike ventures timidly, raising a hand as though he's afraid to speak. "I can't afford to have anything go on my permanent record-"

"Actually, no, let's have a MARIO-themed Party," Sam nearly screams, his long blonde bags brushing over his eyes, "I have a Mario cap and overalls I've been dying to break out and Mike, you can be my Luigi-"

Mike looks horrified at the idea, and Rachel throws him a sympathetic look. She also decides it's only fair that she gets to interject at this point. "A party sounds like an incredible idea. I would love the opportunity to showcase my talent in front of a live audience to receive a much deserved standing ovation-"

"What? Girl, there will be no singing and performing and dancing," Artie interrupts her, looking almost scandalized at her suggestion, "unless it's the drunken singing to 'Red Solo Cup' or some Top 40 song that'll be indicating girls getting _sprung _and no dancing unless it's us boys grinding up on some ass_,_" he makes some wildly inappropriate hand motions to Rachel's absolute disbelief, shock, and horror, and then hi-fives an eagerly nodding Noah. (Rachel doesn't know where this behavior came from; Artie seemed like such a nice, innocent boy—perhaps Noah is a terrible influence).

"I think Rachel should sing," ventures Finn defensively, "she's really good-"

"ORDER! I DEMAND ORDER!" shrills Kurt over the eclectic babble of enthusiastic conversations. He steps into the circle of boys plus Rachel, waving the talking stick as though he's a king and it's his scepter and everybody should obey him.

All of the boys swivel from where they're talking at/over one another, and place their undivided attention on Kurt. Rachel's a little surprised at how cooperative they're being, but perhaps it has something to do with: a) the fact that Kurt has proven in the past few days that he can not only stand his own ground but that he can be _feisty_ (and very mean and bitchy for good measure) as well, b) Kurt has the talking stick which commands more influence and respect than expected, and/or c) Kurt and Blaine have stepped in for Noah and Artie in cooking this week because Noah claims he spent all his money on marijuana and booze and Artie claims he can't buy groceries without someone to drive him—which Noah absolutely refuses to do (namely because he's completely broke and has no money for gas. Rachel thinks about asking him how he'll get the money for alcohol, but decides it's better just to let it go).

Rachel suspects that it has to do with the food, but she doesn't say anything. Even though it is nearly impossible for her to do so, she shuts her mouth and places undivided attention on Kurt.

"First off," Kurt says bossily, waving his talking stick/staff/scepter around, "Artie, this party is a wonderful idea. Not because we are afraid of having the reputation as a house full of gays that is," he adds definitively, as though daring anybody to object (Noah almost does, but Finn elbows him in the ribs and Noah just glowers angrily and stares down at his hands which are tightly clenched into one another), "but because throwing a good party is important in establishing a reputable image for not only the Estate, but also the residents—namely us."

"Tell us something we don't know," grumbles Noah, who looks up from where he's apparently trying to burn holes in the floor with his angry, laser-like stare.

"Now Puck, there's no need to be nasty," Kurt says rather testily. "But since you are very gung-ho on this whole party idea, why don't you contribute first?" Kurt hands Noah the talking stick rather begrudgingly.

Noah stares at the stick in shock, as though he can't believe Kurt actually bequeathed the power and attention to him. Grabbing the wand and pulling it close to his body as though afraid someone will quickly usurp him and steal his undivided power, he says, "Booze. A shitton of booze and a truckload of girls. _Hot _girls," he specifies.

"Girls make me nervous," says Mike in a low voice. The top half of his head pokes out from behind his organic chemistry book which has apparently become his refuge. Rachel would miss what he'd said if she hadn't been sitting next to him. She places a hand on his in what she hopes is a comforting manner and smiles reassuringly at him. Mike makes awkward eye contact with her and then quickly looks away.

"And where do you propose we get said 'hot girls?'" asks Artie expectantly. There is a chorus of agreements and nods from the boys in the circle.

"Just invite chicks you know!" Noah says, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Or just, you know, walk down the Row and pick up some drunk girls. The ones with the really short dresses ususally put out right away." He smiles wickedly, his teeth white and wolfish.

"The Row?" Sam asks, his voice quavering audibly. He looks like he's about to faint. Next to Rachel, Mike emits a small whimper.

The Row is the line of fraternity and sorority houses that lays a little off of campus. The sorority houses radiate grandeur, with ostentatious shows of rosebushes and their perfectly manicured lawns. Rachel has never entertained the idea of becoming Greek, but then again, the girls who tend to run her college campus are the tall, pretty sorority girls. Rachel likes to think of them as the equivalent of cheerleaders in high school.

"Or, _or," _Rachel butts in, eager to calm down Sam who is turning green and beginning to hyperventilate at the thought of having to brave the line of sorority houses and pick up drunken girls, "you can ask any girls in class, or anyone you might want to get to know better-"

Her mind is racing. Obviously, _obviously _she's going to invite Jesse and he's going to fall for her at the party under the lights and a spotlight will shine right on them as they're slow dancing and it will be so perfect and so romantic in all possible ways...

"-I don't know how to talk to girls," Mike whispers again, his face turning as white as chalk as though talking to members of the opposite sex is equivalent to being held at gunpoint.

"ENOUGH!" screeches Kurt, flailing his arms around wildly. Blaine rubs his shoulders consolingly and looking at Kurt with a look of adoration that Rachel can't understand. She thinks absently that if Kurt were to suddenly sprout scales and grow a beak and become a vicious blood-sucking monster, Blaine would still treat him like a harmless bunny rabbit. The thought of Kurt as a monster is a bit unnerving (and so is the image of Kurt as a bunny rabbit), and she shudders.

"Okay, here is the plan," Kurt says, with a voice full of conviction. His tone threatens anyone to object, with the self-assured note that no one will. "We'll throw the party this upcoming Satuday night. All of you—yes, even you Michael—are responsible for inviting at least twenty people. Assuming that about one third of them show up, we'll have around sixty or seventy people here, which sounds reasonable, as that's probably the maximum occupancy for the Estate anyway. Blaine..." he trails off in a testing tone, and Mike stiffens next to Rachel. Rachel glances up and notices that Blaine is nibbling Kurt's ear, a delighted and mischievous smirk on his face. "And everyone needs to give Noah money for booze."

"Booze?" Rachel hears herself ask, "What happens if you don't drink?"

The room is immediately silent and Rachel feels every pair of eyes staring at her.

"What?" she says defensively, folding her arms across her chest. "Alcohol is terrible for my vocal chords and my overall health, not to mention the excess calories-"

"Shut up, Berry," Noah nearly yells, "we'll get you shitfaced on Saturday. You hear that? _Shit. Faced._" He emphasizes how wasted he presumes Rachel to be by pretending to stagger on the floor and then howling wildly and humping the air.

Rachel is not amused.

"I mean, even I've had a couple of beers before," Mike says offhandedly. "I need something to help destress and manage the lifestyle of a pre-med student-"

"Rachel, I'll make you some mixed drinks," Sam offers, "like good Elvish drinks and drinks from Harry Potter. They're really sweet and you can barely taste the alcohol-"

"Come on, Rachel," Blaine whines, "just one martini? I even have a set-"

"That martini set is not coming out! They're like glasses for Barbie dolls!" hisses Kurt. His eyes soften and grow wide as Blaine begins licking his ear, much to Noah's disgust and discomfort.

"You don't drink at all?" ventures Artie cautiously. "I mean, even I've had alcohol before and I'm in a wheelchair!"

Rachel is about to point out that being in a wheelchair has no relevance to drinking behavior at all and Artie should really stop using his handicap as a way to draw irrelevant conclusions when Finn's voice rushes to her defense.

"Rachel doesn't have to drink guys. Stop pressuring her." Finn's eyes meet Rachel's across the circle. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"Thank you, Finn," Rachel sighs, feeling a bit like a goody two-shoes destroying all the fun. But alcohol is not healthy in the _slightest _and she really doesn't need to drink to have a good time and Jesse—oh shit.

Jesse will want to drink, Rachel presumes. She pieces togther her scattered thoughts of what might be expected for this upcoming Saturday and thinks back to her freshman year at the _A Chorus Line _after party. Yes... if her memory is right, Jesse was wildly drunk that evening. Obviously he deserved it with the riveting performance he had delivered, but Rachel expects that this behavior is not uncommon for Jesse St. James. And therefore, in order to impress said boy, she must be willing to make some changes. Love's a two-way street after all.

"Actually, I'll drink," she manages to get out. "Ringing in the schoolyear with my new housemates and... friends, right?" She stumbles a little over the word "friends," because though she knows Kurt and Blaine and possibly Finn are her friends, she's not sure where the other boys fall.

If any of the boys notices her stammering her definition of their relationship to her, he doesn't say anything. Artie just claps with a wide grin, crowing, "That's my girl!" and while Kurt throws Rachel a suspicious look (she suspects he may know of her ulterior motives), Blaine quickly pulls him in for a kiss that diverts his attention.

"WOOOOO! BERRY GONE CRAZY! LET'S GET FUCKING WILD! HUDSON, MAYBE WE'LL ALL SEE HER NAKED THIS TIME!" Noah shouts, pumping his fist heartily in the air, much to Rachel's horror. When there's no response from his peers, he looks around furiously. "Come on, guys! What's wrong with you?"

Hesitantly, Artie's gloved hand meets Noah's in a high-five and is followed by Sam's fist, which is wrapped around the walking stick. One after another, each boy's fist is finally up in the air (even the reluctant Kurt's), and all of the boys look expectantly at her.

Rachel grumbles and manages a half-hearted fistpump.

She has no idea what she's getting herself into.

* * *

><p>"How's your yogurt?" Rachel asks hesitantly, her eyes downcast. Finn is staring at his multicolored frozen yogurt with an expression she can't quite read, swirling the toppings around on his plastic green spoon. They're sitting across from each other at a small table in the yogurt place with its mint green and pink striped walls.<p>

At her question, his eyes meet hers and positively beam with pleasure. Rachel feels her face flush in spite of herself.

"It tastes like _magic_," Finn says, his voice full of awe. He pops a Whopper into his mouth along with some chocolate yogurt and smiles as though he's been told Christmas has come early.

True to his word, Finn has treated Rachel to frozen yogurt. Even though she pulled out her star-studded wallet, ready to pay for her own portion, Finn nearly grabbed her wallet out of her hand and _insisted _that he pay.

"After all," he'd said with a wink, "stars should get treated to things." Rachel had blushed in spite of herself.

"How's yours?" Finn asks.

"It's good," Rachel smiles. "Thanks so much Finn. Thank you... for everything. I've just been so elated about getting the part." Her smile fades as her mind zooms off far ahead of her. "What if I'm awful, Finn? What if I'm a terrible Maria and Jesse thinks I'm not talented and I embarrass my parents and my dads waste a bunch of money to come out here and see me-"

She stops as she's suddenly aware of a large palm pressed over her petite hand. Finn's palms are a little warm and sweaty but it's not unpleasant. In fact, they almost fit, she thinks absently.

"Rachel, you'll be great." Finn's eyes are honest and genuine and he's staring at Rachel as though he believes she's capable of flying to the moon if she so desires. "And I'll be there in the audience, cheering you on."

"Thank you Finn," Rachel murmurs delightedly. "And thank you too... for standing up for me back there. I guess," she folds her fingers together, "if I need anyone to take care of me when I'm drunk I can count on you, huh?"

"Why I'd be delighted to," grins Finn. His eyes are wide and bright and gleam under the white light at the frozen yogurt store. He kicks her lightly and teasingly under the table. She kicks him back with a smile. "In case college doesn't work out, I can just be Commander of Vomit Crew."

"Finn, that's disguting!" Rachel can't stifle her giggles. "I'm glad we've decided to be friends."

An unreadable expression flits over Finn's face but as quickly as it appears, it dissolves. The lines of slight distress across his forehead smooth out to become placid, and his momentary frown is replaced seamlessly by his hitched smile. "Me too, Rachel. Friends it is."

Rachel thinks she detects a note of sadness at the end of Finn's statement, but quickly dismisses it. She reads too far into things and creates drama where there shouldn't be any and she should stop. At least that's what Kurt tells her.

Rachel watches as Finn spoons and impossible amount of yogurt into his mouth and then complains about brain freeze to Rachel's uprorarious laughter, and thinks she could get used to this.

* * *

><p><em>Dear FriendClassmate/Acquaintance/Person I Would Like to Know Better:_

_You are cordially invited to a party at:_

_The Estate_

_321 Drury Lane_

_Starting Time: 10:00 P.M._

_Ending Time: Never_

_Join us for a night of music and dance,_

_Trust me, you don't want to miss this chance_

_To be with me, Rachel Berry, aspiring star_

_Don't worry, the walk to the Estate isn't that far_

_Come see Sam Evans in full action, with his abs_

_And Blaine Anderson whose dance moves are totally fab_

_Artie Abrams has all the swag you'll need_

_And Noah Puckerman will take the lead_

_With raising the roof and setting it on fire,_

_Trust me, this night is not the one to retire_

_To your bed, that is, just to be clear_

_Future Dr. Mike Chang would love to have you here_

_The Estate welcomes you with open arms_

_And Finn Hudson promises to pull the fire alarm_

_If things get too hot with Kurt Hummel on the dance floor_

_But trust me, with these boys you'll be asking for more_

_So come to the Estate and you might leave with a KISS!_

_This is a night you don't want to miss_

_Sincerely,_

_Rachel Barbra Berry_

"You... made invitations?" says Mercedes, looking skeptically at the black stationary studded by... you guessed it, Rachel's signature gold stars. She pushes a strand of her black hair behind her ear, and continues to run her fingers over the gilded invitations in disbelief. "Why didn't you just make a Facebook event or something?"

"Kurt did," Rachel answers, failing to mention that the Facebook event only has 8 RSVPs—namely the boys and Rachel—and a bunch of offensive comments calling the whole house fairies and much to her horror, accusatory gestures at Rachel for engaging in obscene activities with her housemates, "I'll invite you all to that after online. I just wanted," she folds her skirt down, feeling a little self-conscious and ridiculous for even making these cards to begin with, "everything to be more... official."

It's their first cast meeting, and Mr. Schue hasn't arrived yet—some emergency about hair gel and vests, so Rachel took the chance to quickly hand out all the party invitations to her fellow cast members. She's actually rather proud of the poem; it took her a considerable amoung of time to write.

"Well..." Tina says, pushing a strand of dark black and purple hair behind her ear with a fishnet-clad hand. A necklace with skull and crossbones dangles across her chest, "I don't know. I mean, will we know anyone there?"

"Berry has no friends," Quinn Fabray says coolly, from where she smirks a cold smile in Rachel's direction. Rachel feels her blood begin to boil and struggles to find her patience. Grasping onto the remainder of her self-control, she sighs wearily and dejectedly under the scrutiny of her blonde nemesis with flawless, porcelain skin.

"Quinn, that is uncalled for. I'll try to go," Rory offers in his thickly accented voice. He holds the invitation in his hands, apparently reading the poem over and over. (Rachel is glad; it took her considerable effort to put it together). But his face is in a bit of a weird grimace, as though he's doing Rachel a favor by attending her party.

"Please come!" Rachel says, hoping she doesn't sound too desperate. (She does). "You'll have the opportunity to be graced by my presence, and as I am a budding young star, I assure you that you should get the chance to know me so I can help you out—only if you need and so desire—in the future!"

"Blah, blah, blah, Berry," Sugar Motta spits. She's a mousy looking girl with brown hair that stands up in all directions. Rachel tries to console herself by trying to ignore Sugar's bad attitude and telling herself that Sugar probably has a lot of split ends.

"I'll swing by," says an unfamiliar voice. Rachel looks up beseechingly to see Joe Hart wave her invitation. "I can come over with Rory." Rachel has the desire to hug the stranger—who is a cast members she will know soon—on the spot, even with his disgustingly long, matted dreadlocks and his unappealing shiny, silver nosering.

"Yes, thank you," Rachel replies, a little too quickly. Yes, she sounds desperate alright.

"Blaine's my very good friend and we go way back, so I will be in attendance," Wes says, looking proper and collected as ever in a button up and a tie. Not a single one of his black hairs is out of place and he doesn't have a single wrinkle on his shirt. Rachel's sure he doesn't fall into the category of "hot chicks" that Noah so desires, but she gives him a nod of gratitude regardless. Beggars can't be choosers, after all.

"You live with Blaine Anderson?" comes a cool, almost conceited sounding voice. Rachel's eyes glance at the speaker, a tall, clean-cut boy with a chiseled jawline, brown hair, and bright green eyes.

"Yes..." Rachel answers uncertainly. "He's dating my best friend, Kurt Hummel."

"I'll be there," says the boy smoothly. "I'm Sebastian Smythe, by the way, Rachel. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Even though something about Sebastian seems a bit off (and even oddly familiar) to Rachel—his suaveness is disarming and _slimy,_ even_—_she doesn't care. All she needs is a decent number of RSVPs to the party, or else Kurt will have a bitch fit and Noah will throw a tantrum and her week will be miserable, and most importantly, _Jesse _won't go.

"There's unlimited alcohol." Rachel says desperately as a selling point. She watches as all of _The Sound of Music _cast members' eyes widen.

"Well why didn't you say that first? Why is the fact that there is booze not in this _damn _invitation? That's the most important part," Mercedes nearly sighs in exasperation, wagging her finger disapproval at Rachel. "Of _course _I'm going now!"

"Yeah, tell me about it," Brittany perks up, "gotta go get my drink on!" Lauren Zizes nods in agreement.

Rachel is about to explain how she doesn't like to publicize underage drinking in her invitations, but then decides to bite her tongue. She could care less about what her cast members think about her. All of her thoughts only rest on one person, who has stayed conscpisuosly silent this entire exchange. She raises her eyes to fix hesitantly on Jesse, and she can feel her heart pounding. "Jesse, will you come? I understand completely, if you're busy—a man of talent like yourself and I, uh-" she trails off as she realizes she's babbling.

"Hey, why not?" Jesse says offhandedly, shrugging one of his shoulders, "I'll be there, Rachel."

"Great," Rachel answers, her heart slamming in her chest and her body tingling in anticipation. "I can't wait."

This party is going to be great.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: AIEEEEE I'm so sorry we didn't actually get to the PARTY, but that's next chapter I promise. And I'm sorry that this story seems a bit stagnant with its story line, but I promise the drama is coming and it will be great. I'm just trying to ease into things slowly and I get really caught up with a bunch of details... I hope you enjoyed regardless. Thank you all so much for sticking with me; I love all of you!

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_bueller: _Thanks so much for the review! :) Hehehe, Puck needs his sex like most people need air. And OH MY GOD I met the cast of _The Sound of Music _recently, SO SO wonderful. Awww I adore Sam, and there was a tad more Quinn for this chapter so I hope you enjoyed. Thanks so much for reading; please continue!

_Heres to us_: I know you reviewed a long time ago, but I hope you're still reading! You should make a fanfiction account. Thanks for the review!

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_InaFinchelCraze_: Thanks so much :) Haha I am so so so sorry I'm slow with updates. I just get so caught up with everything and writing actually takes me FOREVER. Oh gosh... I'm sorry about this chapter being another pointless filler :( but I hope you enjoyed regardless

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WHAT DID YOU THINK OF THE FINALE? TELL MEEEE

-sf


	11. of teenage wastelands & underage drinkin

**Author's Note**: Oh my golly. First off, let me apologize that it's been longer than anticipated since the last update. I had one of my stories removed for "inappropriate rating" which is ridiculous because there was nothing inappropriate in it and it was rated T to be safe, so my posting activities were restricted :c

On another note, thank you so much to _Melmin _for running through ideas with me about this chapter. (I'm so, so sorry I never sent it to you but for some reason, my account was acting up and I actually reworked the entire chapter so it was probably for the better).

I'm not quite sure how I liked this chapter. I mean, I enjoyed writing it immensely, and I hope that you all enjoy reading it, but yeah... we shall see... :)

**Summary**: All Rachel wants to do is survive college and become a star, but now she's living in a messed up fairy tale with seven, socially inept boys, who are proving to be quite the distraction. Finchel, Klaine AU

**Warnings**: sexual content, language, possible self-harm, abuse, attempted rape

**Rating**: M (to be safe)

**Genre**: Romance/Humor/Drama

**Pairings**: Finn/Rachel (Finchel), Kurt/Blaine (Klaine), Tina/Mike (Tike), Quinn/Puck (Quick), and so on and so forth as my wicked mind plots away

* * *

><p><strong>Crackedly Ever After<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eleven<strong>

_of teenage wastelands and underage drinking_

* * *

><p>Rachel hmphs to herself, deciding that though tonight's party might—no, make that <em>will—<em>be great, party planning is _not. _She jumps, once again, trying to attach the glittered banner to the wall above her, but her 5' 2" stature is hindering her more than she'd like to admit. Desperately, she looks around for some help. Honestly, Kurt deciding to put her on decorating duty is one of the dumbest things she's ever heard of. She should be the last person he puts in charge of decorating—or second to last, she rethinks, reminded of Artie. She's not tall enough to hang anything and everything she thinks is fashionable and a good idea is a travesty in his eyes.

Luckily, Sam is coming down the hall at this point, and Rachel manages to convince him to hang up the banner. She dodges into her room to look over her costume for that night. Her dress and shoes and jewelry are laid out on her bed, and she strokes her clothes fondly.

After much much deliberation and many... to put it blatantly, _arguments _and full out brawls, the theme of the party has been declared "Teenage Wasteland." This theme is the winning contender as it is versatile and allows people (namely those crazy partygoers) to dress up as whatever they desire. Plus it's a nice compromise between Puck's demands for an "Anything but Clothes" or a "Party with Sluts" party and Rachel's wishes that it be "Film Noir" and Sam's racuous orders that the party be "Havoc at Hogwarts" or "A Shindig at the Shire." Teenage Wasteland, though not as classy of a theme as Rachel would have liked, still allows her to dress up in her beautiful, classy, knee-length black dress with the conservative, high neckline, and tie up her glossy brown hair to portray a delicate, composed, highly talented like herself Audrey Hepburn. She also has a pair of _spectacular _black heels that make her a whopping 5' 4", which is obviously incredibly noticeable. With this sexy little number, she is _bound _to get Jesse's attention.

She finds herself wondering what Jesse might dress as. Perhaps he'll be Rhett Butler or James Dean or John Travolta—as he was in _Grease, _of course. Whatever he is, Rachel's sure he'll be as devastatingly handsome as ever, and she'll get her man tonight... she just knows it.

There's a knock at her door, and Kurt peeks his head in.

"Rachel," he smiles. She pauses to stare back at him and analyze whether it's a malicious smile or a sweet one, as her best gay friend has been rather tempermental lately. Surprisingly (and to her relief), it's sweet.

"Kurt!" Rachel cries, waving to indicate that Kurt should enter. "Come look at my costume for tonight."

"I wanted to tell you the bartending schedule," Kurt explains, ignoring Rachel's dress laid out on her bed. "I put you on the first shift with Mike so you can get your hands on your man-candy," he smirks knowingly and studying his perfectly manicured nails. "Now who's your best friend?"

Rachel beams at her sassy gay best friend. "Thank you, Kurt. That was surprisingly incredibly considerate of you."

"As though I'd be anything else," Kurt snips back delicately. "Now, let me see—you're wearing _that?_"

The alarm in his voice shines through immediately, and Rachel stares up in shock. "Why, is there something wrong?"

Her eyes scour her dress for a stain she missed or a loose thread or a tear that she didn't spot that would cause Kurt to yell bloody murder and overreact, but there's nothing. Just her classy, elegant black dress with her beautiful pearl necklace.

"Yes," snaps Kurt, in an almost horrified voice. He stares at her in disbelief. "Miss Rachel Berry, are you or are you not planning on snagging a certain Mr. Jesse St. James tonight?"

Rachel splutters at him, opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish. "Y-yes..." she stammers, eyes wide and imploring. She glances wildly back and forth from the dress to Kurt.

"Rachel, Rachel, Rachel," Kurt tsks, placing his hands on her shoulders and staring into her eyes. "Rachel, I know that I make jokes at the expense of your underdeveloped body a lot and have been reduced to tears by your dismal wardrobe (and that I also mention that I must set your entire closet on fire every so often). But girlfriend, it's time to take control of your destiny. Release your sexuality. Show your man that you are a _sexy _beast slash radiant young woman in your sexual prime and that you have something to _offer_! This dress—while incredibly classy (I'm glad that you've been taking notes during my lessons about the limited range of exemplary fashion choices for your body type)—radiates cuteness and naivete and innocence and practically screams, 'I am twelve years old—dancing with me is considered statutory rape so look, but whatever you do, don't touch.' _How the hell are you going to compete _with the leggy, half-naked, lingerie-clad tramps that roam the Estate tonight?" he sounds indignant, as though Rachel is being the impossible, irrational one.

"You mean... I have to whore myself out?" Rachel asks skeptically, slowly processing Kurt's advice. Kurt is now spinning Rachel around, tsking and hmming as he takes in her body proportions.

"Obviously," Kurt says this with uncharacteristic abandon, rolling his eyes. "And truthfully, you have to be a pretty damn good whore, Rachel. There are going to be girls here with only caution tape on, parading around as Lady Gaga from her masterful 'Telephone' music video, a horde old school 'Hit Me One More Time' Britney Spears, girls showing off their cleavage as that horrendous alienlike creature, Snooki-"

"Aren't you being Snooki?" Rachel interrupts, "and Blaine's being the Situation?" (She knows this becaues Kurt burst into her room a few days ago demanding to borrow the shortest dress she had because anything short on her would be dangerously inappropriate on him and perfect for his Snooki costume).

"That's none of your business," Kurt replies crisply, but his ears flame red. "But trust me, Rachel. Wear something... scandalous. Sexy. Sensual. Trashy. Slutty. Take my advice on this one, though you hardly ever listen to what I have to say. Also, be downstairs in fifteen minutes. We need to talk about setting up."

And he's gone, just like that, leaving Rachel staring at her dress and shoes, butterflies in her stomach as she anticipates that night.

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>She will not succumb to peer pressure, Rachel decides, as she applies some lipstick and purses her lips. She is a classy, beautiful girl, and Jesse is not shallow enough to fall for the first tramp who shows him some cleavage. Jesse knows that they're meant to be together, she just knows it. Jesse's meant to be with <em>her, <em>Rachel Barbra Berry, and he _has _to know it. Their talent is evenly matched—she might be a notch above him—but together, they'll be unbeatable. They'll be the Golden Couple everybody admires, and she doesn't fall for douchebags who are just concerned with getting laid. Therefore, Jesse is looking for more than just sex. He's looking for a future woman with whom he can copulate. Together, they'll have a respectable relationship, the two of them, learning duets to perform together, playing the piano together, performing... all she needs is tonight to convince him of that.

She's ready.

She straps on her black heels, and heads down the stairs.

And enters chaos.

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>Girls have no place bartending, Rachel decides. Well at least, not girls like her. Not girls who are the epitome of classiness, pearl earrings and necklace and all.<p>

"Give me three shots of vodka," slurs some drunk, hefty man, who obviously pregamed. Rachel's guess is that he's one of Finn's guests, as he's wearing a football jersey. Honestly, he didn't even try.

"Who are you supposed to be?" Rachel asks conversationally, as she pours out vodka into a red plastic cup and hands it to him. She has no idea what three shots is supposed to be so she just pours in what she thinks is a good amount.

"Peyton Manning, duh," he shrugs, downing the vodka like it's water. He grimaces a little, shakes his face, and then throws the cup back at her, demanding more. His eyes leer up at the girls grinding against each other on the stairwell/in the kitchen/upstairs. (Rachel shudders at the thought of anybody sneaking off to her bedroom to have sex. If they do, she hopes they don't sweat on any of her stuffed animals).

The party has just stared, and Rachel doesn't think any of her invitees have yet to arrive. Guess the boys did hold up on their end of the bargain, inviting classmates, friends, teammates...

The signs on the front door that say "ALL YOU CAN DRINK," "PARTY PARTY PARTY," "UNLIMITED BOOZE" probably help as well. And the music blaring from the house—Artie, surprisingly, has experience deejaying and once Noah managed to "borrow" some equipment (Rachel doesn't want to think about where he was able to get the high quality stereo and speakers), Artie got started playing and mixing Top 40 hits. And the fact that Kurt finally allowed Noah to change the name of the Facebook event to "Free Bitchez and Booze." (Rachel highly disapproved of this name but her opinion apparently didn't matter).

And the decorations surprisingly panned out as well. Strobe lights emit bright colors out on the stairwell throughout the darkness that most of the partygoers seem to prefer. The dining room table has become a beer pong table—Sam managed to salvage his _Star Wars _tablecloth before it suffered any more alcohol-related damage—and Rachel can hear the whistles and catcalls of the drunk guys inside engaging in their game that while seeming to lack any real intellect or skill successfully gets them all smashed.

"Another shot!" the pseudo Peyton Manning howls, clacking the red cup against the table. It cracks, and Peyton stares at it in disbelief and confusion before practically screaming at Rachel to hurry-the-fuck-up because he can feel himself sobering up just waiting for her.

"Okay, okay, okay, calm down!" Rachel protests, but Peyton just grabs the entire bottle of vodka from her and runs off into the midst of the party.

"Wait! Come back!" Rachel shouts indignantly, but her voice is overwhelmed by the pounding beats of music.

"It's okay," Mike tells her, from where he's pouring orange juice and gin for a girl dressed as either Barbie or Paris Hilton. (Rachel can't tell. The girl's just wearing all pink and is carrying a stupid stuffed chihuahua, and apparently Noah picked her up on the Row. Apparently the term is a "Row Ho"). "Just let it go. Puck got more than enough alcohol for us."

Rachel glances warily at Mike, who has donned a huge black afro wig, neon green zebra striped pants, neon pink Ray Ban frames without the actual lenses, and a t-shirt that screams, "I'm Sexy and I Know It." For someone so scared of his own shadow—not to mention the opposite sex, partying evidently puts Mike in a different mindset.

"I like your costume," Rachel says a bit dryly. She pats Mike's wig a bit hesitantly, and it's just as spongy as it looks.

"Thanks!" Mike says brightly, taking a swig from a can of beer. "I'm Redfoo and Artie's SkyBlu." He gestures off at Artie, and Rachel spots Artie with his red Ray Bans and a shirt that screams, "I'm in Miami Bitch!" Artie has also donned a black wig and is wheeling enthusiastically around in surprisingly rhythmic circles in his wheelchair. Also surprisingly, a rather busy brunette is grinding with him—which is an accomplishment in itself because to get to his level, she nearly has to fold herself over like a flimsy piece of origami.

"What?" Rachel asks skeptically, and a bit confused, returning to Mike's statement. Who on earth are Redfoo and SkyBlu?

"I'm Sexy and I Know It? Everyday I'm shufflin'?" Mike looks at her in a discouraged expression. "LMFAO?"

"I'm sorry," Rachel apologizes, flushing immediately. "I knew that." And she did. Somewhere deep in the corner of her mind. "Of course, my iPod is full of more Broadway hits and classical numbers than more modern, Top 40 hits, but I know LMFAO! And you and Artie have done the duo justice, I promise you... I'm sorry, I've just been distracted." She covers up her blunder quickly, eyes glued on the door, waiting for Jesse to enter.

"A boy?" Mike asks knowingly. Rachel forces herself not to crinkle her nose at the smell of alcohol on his breath, and she nods in reply. "Rachel, you're nice. Any boy would be lucky to have you."

"I hope that's true," Rachel replies, a bit anxiously. (She writes off some of her anxiety to the fact that Mike has probably spoken more words to her in the last few minutes than he has in the entire time she's known him combined). She fiddles with the pearls around her neck. Sebastian Smythe has arrived, and he gives her a leery smile in return for her thanking him for coming, before ordering two shots of tequila. He's dressed as David Bowie—a multicolored lightning stripe across her face and his brown hair worked up in wild, free tufts—and he gives her a cool, almost haughty smile.

Rachel looks cluelessly at the alcohol surrounding her, and thankfully Mike saves the day. He pours Sebastian some alcohol and sends him on his way.

"Do you want me to make you anything?" offers Mike, holding up a handle of some sort of alcohol. "I can make you something really light—not strong at all." Evidently alcohol helps him get conversations going.

"No, I'm alright," Rachel replies evenly. She will start drinking when Jesse arrives, and only then. No need to be inebriated before the object of her affections and unending desire even arrives.

"Do you know her?" Mike says abruptly, switching the subject. His finger points directly at the girl who has just entered the house. His voice is full of a mixture of awe and disbelief and Rachel doesn't know Mike that well yet, but is that _desire _she hears?

It's Tina, Rachel realizes. She's donned a bright blue wig; a multicolored, rainbow tutu; and a rather revealing and suggestive, sparkly, candy-covered top that shows off an ample amount of cleavage. Rachel's guessing Tina decided to go as Katy Perry.

"That's Tina," Rachel answers Mike. "She's playing Liesl in _The Sound of Music _and we have some classes that overlap. She's a very nice, respectable girl," she flinches as she looks back at Tina's boobs which are practically spilling from her sparkly top, "and her voice—though not as good as mine, obviously—is more than decent. It has a soft, sweet tone, I suppose, and isn't unpleasant to hear." Rachel glances over at Mike, who has grown silent. He studies Tina, his eyes glued on her every move, his mouth dropping visibly open. "Do you like her?" When Mike doesn't answer, Rachel continues. "You should talk to her!"

"I c-can't talk to girls," Mike manages, his voice strained. He fingers the collar of his bold, black t-shirt and gulps.

"You're talking to me," Rachel says pointedly.

"That's b-because I'm not interested in you," Mike stammers, swallowing hard. His eyes have grown to nearly the size of saucers behind his lenses. "No offense, Rachel. And also because I'm drunk and holy _shit _she's coming over here-"

Rachel realizes Tina's walking towards them, her movements slow and jerky due to her black and candy blue striped heels.

"Hey, can I get something to drink?" Tina giggles, as she approaches the bartending station. She twirls a strand of her blue wig with her finger and glances interestedly at Mike. "Great costume." She compliments Mike.

Rachel waits for Mike to respond to the girl who's obviously interested in him, but there is no answer. She looks over at Mike, and the Asian boy seems to be rigid. Frozen. Unable to believe that Tina's talking to him. Dear God, his mouth is still _open. _His eyes seem impossibly large and shocked in his face, magnified even more by his fake Ray Ban glasses.

"Tina, I've got you!" Rachel hurriedly steps in for Mike who's standing there, arms dangling as he stares at Tina speechlessly. "What can I get for you?"

"Oh, surprise me," Tina smirks, smiling at Rachel. She glances at Mike, and her initially interested expression begins to fade to a look of confusion and disappointment. "Just make me something good," Tina glances at Rachel, leaving her befuddled and bewildered, staring at the alcohol around her. What on earth tastes _good? _Having been raised by two overprotective gay dads who made alcohol seem like the most disgusting, vile substance ever leaves Rachel very limited and sheltered in any thoughts of alcohol that might be _good._

"Berry, I've got this." Rachel hears a gruff voice, belonging to the one and only Noah Puckerman. If there has ever been a time where she's actually happy to see Noah, it would be now. "Hudson and I are up for bartending."

Rachel turns around to see a good lord—shirtless Noah covered in masses of tattoos. (Rachel is hoping that they're fake because if they're not: a) Noah has spent ludicrous amounts of money on permanent art for his body, b) oh dear lord—how _painful _must that have been, c) he's tatted to the point where it's nauseating, and d) if they are real, she'll never be able to look at him the same again and all of his propositions to have sex with her will be even more disturbing than they already are). His mohawk has been spiked up straight so that it stands regally in its full height and he twirls some drum sticks. Evidently he's gone as someone Rachel doesn't quite recognize...

"Travis Barker," Noah fills in for her, taking in her confused expression. He hands a red cup to Tina, who hurriedly gulps it down and joins Mercedes, who has just arrived dressed as Beyonce in her Single Ladies music video, on the dance floor. "Blink 182?"

"Oh," Rachel says faintly. She reaches out her hand and cautiously traces over one of the tattoos on Noah's body. To her relief, her finger comes off a litle smudged. It's paint. Thank goodness.

"Stop that," hisses Noah, slapping her hand away as though he would slap away a fly. "Here," he says, thrusting a plastic cup at her. "Drink this. You can't be the only sober nancy at this party."

"No," Rachel protests, preparing to lecture Noah on the dangers of alcohol which include but are not limited to: 1) impairment of one's judgment, 2) increased alcohol level in one's bloodstream, 3) possible addictive effects, 4) increased probability of cihrrosis in the future, etc., "I don't want-"

"Fuck, Berry, get that stick out of your ass and have some fun." Noah glowers at her rather threateningly, and Rachel cringes under his gaze. She begrudgingly pulls up the plastic cup to her mouth and hurriedly takes a bigger gulp than she intended.

She coughs and gags immediately, her eyes watering as Noah laughs uproariously as though Rachel struggling with the consumption of vodka is the funniest thing he's ever seen. The alcohol burns her throat, and makes her chest feel uncomfortably warm as it slides down.

"Puck, stop man. Leave her alone," comes a defensive, almost weary voice, and Rachel whirls around to spot Finn. And to her surprise... Finn is handsome. Almost dashingly good-looking. And that's saying something, considering the fact that he's in red—dear God are those _tights?—_and a red cape and a blue t-shirt that fits just right over his broad chest with an emblazoned red S inside a yellow diamond.

"Yeah..." Finn says uncertainly, toying with his scarlet cape, his face turning suspiciously darker—well as far as Rachel can tell in with the neon strobe light. "I kind of didn't understand the whole 'Teenage Wasteland' concept and I've always liked Superman so..."

"I like your costume a lot," Rachel says honestly. "I think you are a very handsome Superman." Her statement comes out a little more crisply and flirtatiously than she would have liked, and she reaches up a hand to brush over Finn's shoulder.

"Thanks Rachel." Finn positively beams at her. "You... you look beautiful," he says, taking in her black dress and heels. "Audrey Hepburn?" he ventures a guess, looking unconvinced.

"Yes!" Rachel claps delightedly, restraining herself from hugging him on the spot. "I'm so glad to find cultured individuals among the masses of uneducated, unartistic heathens that I have the misfortune of calling colleagues."

Finn stares at her as though he has no idea what she just said. (Rachel suspects this isn't far from the truth, but she's willing to give him the benefit of the doubt).

"Yeah," Finn says uncertainly and slowly, "my mom loves _Roman Holiday _and _Tiffany's Breakfast _so I've seen those movies a bunch_._" He looks at her as though he may have said something wrong to offend her.

Rachel is so pleased by Finn's identification of her costume that she decides to graciously let Finn's butchering of _Breakfast at Tiffany's _go.

"Umm, how are you enjoying the party?" Rachel replies politely, changing the subject.

Finn opens his mouth and goldfishes for a second. It seems as though he's about to answer, when his mouth drops even wider and he stares behind him.

"Badda bing, badda boom! Who wants to smush smush?" comes a loud, high-pitched heavily accented—yet somehow familiar voice. Rachel whirls around to nearly get blindsided by what looks like an Oompa Loompa with a huge bump of shiny black hair.

"K-Kurt?" Rachel manages in a shocked voice at the same time Noah spits, "Hummel?"

"What do I gotta do to get some pickles here?" Kurt sniffs, in a way more dainty than Snooki might be. He fist pumps rather exaggeratedly, nearly stumbling on his dangerously tall heels.

"Snooks, I got cha." Blaine, his curly hair straightened into spikes and gelled to the point of alarming, emerges from the shadows and sidles up to Kurt. He's wearing a t-shirt sporting impressive musculature, and he raises his sunglasses up to wink at Rachel with a mischievous smile. He's almost the same shade of bronze and orange Blaine is, much to Rachel's horror.

"Quite a turnout tonight, huh?" Kurt says converationally, his heavily painted eyebrow raised. Rachel flinches and tries not to focus on his horrifically orange skin tone and his... she has no other word for it than skanky cheetah print dress. It hugs Kurt's hips and has a plunging neckline and Kurt evidently has either stuffed his chest with cantoloupes or some other large round fruits of the like or purchased an extremely padded bra. Rachel figures it doesn't really matter either way, because Kurt Hummel has managed to pull off a very successful Snooki.

"Look, there's my girl Ke$ha," Kurt points at a blonde girl with glitter thrown haphazardly all throughout her hair and sparkles all over her face wearing dangerously short ripped shorts with an American flag t-shirt (also ripped and torn) that Rachel immediately identifies as Brittany, "and Napoleon Dynamite," (Rachel doesn't know the boy Kurt's pointing at but she thinks she may have encountered him at some point—Jacob Ben Israel or something is his name), "and I have to say, that is the most impressive Marilyn Monroe I've seen in awhile."

Rachel glances up hurriedly, eyes fixing on Quinn Fabray. Her hair is beautifully coiffed in delicate blonde curls, her eyelashes impossibly long and black and dark, her white dress hugs her breasts, revealing just enough to be desirable but not slutty. She hears a sharp intake of breath behind her, and whirls around to see Puck with his mouth almost hitting the ground.

"Berry, who is that?" he manages.

"Quinn Fabray," Rachel responds through gritted teeth, not even trying to hide her imminent dislike. But Quinn being beautiful and making her Audrey Hepburn costume look cheap and crappy next to hers isn't the problem. No, no. The problem is Jesse St. James's arm placed lazily around Quinn's waist. Jesse, who's dressed in a sleek black tuxedo and looking impossibly handsome with his hair coiffed perfectly and his tie lying loose around his neck.

"Who's that tool with her? Who the fuck wears a tux to a party?" Noah sneers from behind her, flexing his biceps so that his fake tattoos move. He continues with his tirades against Jesse. Kurt tells Noah to calm down as he drags Blaine off to dance, their hips grinding against one another's suggestively and sexually to the music. Rachel watches Jesse part from Quinn, planting a kiss on her hand, and strides toward the table.

"Rachel, would you do me the pleasure of getting me something strong? Use your imagination, doll—throw an olive in there if you're feeling like being classy," he grins wolfishly at Rachel. Rachel catches a glint of his teeth and nearly faints on the spot.

"J-Jesse," Rachel stammers, her heart hammering in her chest. (She hopes Jesse doesn't notice that she's nearly hyperventilating). "I'm so glad you could come!"

"Darling, it's Bond. James Bond." Jesse pauses dramatically, and Rachel nearly melts into a pile of goo on the spot. "Come on, Ms. Hepburn," Jesse smiles, running his hand through his flawlessly styled brown hair. "Take a shot with me? You know, us individuals with star quality need to stick together."

Rachel glances around uncertainly at an amused Kurt and disgusted Noah (hopefully Noah's disgust isn't targeted at her). "Um... sure," she manages, a bit apprehensive. "Of course."

To her credit, Rachel manages to swallow this next shot with much more flair than her last shot (which isn't saying much, but give her some credit, okay?) Flushed, she somehow lets Jesse talk her into two, and then three, and before she realizes it, she's downed four shots and is dangerously teetering around on the edge. Jesse just smiles at her, his eyes glinting and sparkling under the strobelights and his muscled dancer's body moving rhythmically to the music. His hand is placed on her waist, and he glues his eyes to hers as she blushes furiously.

"Thank you for inviting me," he whispers in her ear, his voice warm against her face.

Her head whirling, Rachel giggles a bit immaturely.

"I'm glad you came. You're so talented. To the point where it almost rivals my upstanding talents and you and I could be Broadway's biggest power couple," she babbles incoherently. She feels her hands tighten around something as she closes her eyes, and figures it must be Jesse's hand. "Oh Jesse," she practically moans.

"Jesse?" comes a confused voice. Rachel immediately opens her eyes and realizes Finn is looking at her with wide, concerned eyes, Superman cape and all.

"Rachel, are you alright?" Finn asks, trying to pry a red plastic cup from her hands. "You've been holding onto Jesse's cup for the last five minutes while he's off dancing with that girl that looks like Kim Kardashian." He points at a very scantily clad woman with long, flowing black hair and full lips and round breasts and oh my God you must be fucking kidding her—it's Santana.

Santana purses her lips as she catches Rachel's eyes and bats her furiously long eyelashes flirtatiously. Rachel goldfishes... how did this happen? One minute she was next to Jesse, taking shots with him and hoping that he'd ask her to dance and now he's got his face practically burrowed in Santana's boobs?

Rachel splutters helplessly. She can't walk over to Jesse and steal him away from Santana because that would be desperate and bordering on the edge of psycho, but oh _God, _his lips are attached to her neck and who the _fuck _invited Santana Lopez to this party anyway?

She's temporarily distracted by Quinn throwing a cup of alcohol at Noah's face (apparently his advances were not returned nor appreciated), and by the time she whirls around again, she can't spot Jesse in the mass of people. She has no idea how the party got so wild and so big all at once, and she stands up as high as she can on her heels, trying to figure out where that whore has gone with Rachel's man.

Instead, she spots everyone _but _them.

Sebastian sidles up to the inebriated Blaine who is dancing (and flailing his arms), at this point, with anything that moves—right now it's with Brittany. Brittany is also very drunk and therefore is reciprocating Blaine's innocent advances, calling him her "best gay dolphin friend" (for some inexplicable reason). Blaine's movements are jerky and crazy and match in time with the flailing of the feathers in Brittany's hair. The corner of Blaine's mouth is hitched up in a smile; anyone can tell he's having a good time. His shirt with the exaggerated abs pulls up as he dances, exposing his own skin underneath, and he loops his hands threw his tightly gelled hair.

However, Rachel watches suspiciously, still grasping her—no, Jesse's—red plastic cup in hand as Sebastian leans down and places his hands around Blaine's waist. She watches as he leans in close behind Blaine's neck and whispers something heatedly into Blaine's ear. She sees Blaine smile goofily and drunkenly, his eyes glazed underneath his dark sunglasses—dear lord, he really is a lightweight; Kurt wasn't kidding—and then his eyebrows arching up in shock as Sebastian takes one of his hands from where it's wrapped around Blaine's hips to forcefully and physically grab a handful of his ass. Blaine seems to be protesting now, trying to push Sebastian away from him, but Sebastian only licks his lips and moves in more, his hips jerking to the sound of the music, and reaches around with his other hand to palm Blaine's crotch.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a pissed off and very, very orange-colored Kurt Hummel open his mouth in indignation. "Smythe, I told you to stay the _fuck _away from my boyfriend!"

Kurt seemingly barrels out of nowhere, rage painting his face scarlet underneath his orange self-tanner. His Snooki bump-up wig is askew and his skin tone only intensifies in color as he forcefully pulls Sebastian off of Blaine to face him. He proceeds to slap Sebastian Smythe hard across the face, so hard, in fact, that he grunts with the effort. Sebastian staggers back from the sheer blow of the impact and also probably from shock. Sebastian's hand flies immediately to cup his cheek, where Kurt's fingerprints are still visible, and his lips bite back into a disgusted sneer. Rachel notices that part of his David Bowie lightning bolt has been smeared off, revealing his pale skin underneath.

Blaine has turned around, dropping his red plastic cup and his sunglasses, looking confused and vulnerable and for some reason, on the border of tears. It's very odd considering his "the Situation" costume, and Rachel can see his hazel eyes widen in shock as Kurt starts screaming at both him and at Sebastian. She sees Blaine's hands go up defensively, and can make out a distorted garble of words, but the music suddenly surges up more decibels and she can't hear what they're saying.

Rachel's about to go over to see what's happening when she feels a sweaty hand on hers. Sam, who's visibly swaying, his eyes glazed over, pulls her back towards him. His purple hoodie is rumpled, and he staggers towards her, his Justin Bieber styled hair sweaty and matted.

"Sam?" she asks, surprised, her head reeling from the alcohol she's consumed and the pounding music in her ears. "I like your costume," she continues deliriously, her voice swimming.

"Vodka and Middle Earth rum and Butterbeer recipes combined, not a good idea," he manages, looking green. He heaves and opens his mouth again as though he's about to say something else, but nothing comes out except for the vomit that cascades down all over her new black heels.

As if that's not bad enough, watching him throw up triggers her to upchuck the entire contents of her stomach all over Sam.

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><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: AAANNNNNND what did you think of the party? Hehehe.

_Story Stats:_

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_Replies to Anonymous Reviews:_

_iloveyouforever: _Hahaha whoops, I meant the 2 hour special, thanks for correcting me on that! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you liked this one as well!

_tired: _Eep. I'm sorry. I have to balance my desire for Rachel to get squashed by a boulder by making a fool out of her at some point. If you don't like the story, you don't have to read it.

_Katie_: Hi! I'm sorry if this update took too long to get up to (see the author's note for reasons). I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

_bueller_: Hehe, I'm glad you liked the rhyming invitations, lol. The two hour episode was so good! I was dismally disappointed by the finale :( and I loved "Tonguetied!" Haha... I don't know if the plot really revealed itself yet, but I promise you, I have a lot in store. I hope you keep reading!

_Taylore_: Hehehehe, poor Blaine! All he wants is his martini glasses! Hehe :) I'm glad you're enjoying and I hope you keep reading!

_PeaceLoveFinchel_: Thanks!

Hehehe. What did you guys think of the finale? I actually pretty much despised the whole thing and I don't know if I'm going to be able to force myself to watch the next season, but I think overall my undying loyalty to _Glee _and the characters and the cast will win out over how much I hate the strange writing... hehe.

Anyway, please, please, please review with your thoughts on my story. I'll try to update asap, but if you get bored, feel free (PLEASE) check out my other _Glee _stories!

-sf


	12. of unexpected gestures & gentle boys

**Author's Note**: Dear God, I am so, so sorry it has taken me this long to update. I've just been inundated with work and battling a dangerous addiction to One Direction and yadda yadda. I am so sorry, but thank you to all of you who have stood by me.

This story is over a year old. Holy crap! I'm going to try to update at least once a month, and I'm so sorry the progress has been so slow.

**Summary**: All Rachel wants to do is survive college and become a star, but now she's living in a messed up fairy tale with seven, socially inept boys, who are proving to be quite the distraction. Finchel, Klaine AU

**Warnings**: sexual content, language, possible self-harm, abuse, attempted rape

**Rating**: M (to be safe)

**Genre**: Romance/Humor/Drama

**Pairings**: Finn/Rachel (Finchel), Kurt/Blaine (Klaine), Tina/Mike (Tike), Quinn/Puck (Quick), and so on and so forth as my wicked mind plots away

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><p><strong>Crackedly Ever After<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter Twelve<strong>

_of unexpected gestures and gentle boys_

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><p>When Rachel wakes up, her mouth is full of cotton. Her head is spinning wildly and the edges of her mouth are so dry she wonders vaguely if someone—namely Noah, in an attempt to be funny—stuffed her mouth with sandpaper. Her tongue feels enormous and uncomfortable and it lolls awkwardly in her mouth, and her limbs keep flailing around uselessly. Shifting, she tries to get to her feet, and her whole world slants diagonally in front of her.<p>

Staggering, she trembles and wonders if the world is ending. Her head throbs uncontrollably and every movement sounds like a grenade as she manages to get to her feet.

She's not in her room.

She's ruled that out—there's no inspirational Barbra Streisand poster tacked on the wall or freshly picked sunflowers in pink vases. Also, there's a lump in the bed from which she just emerged. An unmistakably male lump, that is, with tufts of rich brown hair and slightly freckled skin. The lump is wearing a stained Superman shirt.

_Finn?_

Rachel's trying to piece together whether or not it's actually him, but her head is spinning so much that it takes every bit of focus she has not to throw up all over the floor of Finn's bedroom. A whimper escapes her, but the lump—it is Finn, she's reasoned by now—just moans and rolls over in his bed.

"Finn?" Rachel manages in a groggy voice because the room is spinning and she smells like shit and she's wearing clothes that don't look familiar. She's clothed in soft grey t-shirt that bags over her body of a McKinley High football team and other than that, her legs are bare. Thankfully she has on underwear.

Finn grumbles again, flinging an arm over his face as he continues to snore softly, and Rachel fights the urge to cry.

What _happened _last night? All Rachel remembers flashes of a shirtless Noah covered in tattoos, Tina in a blue wig and candies glued all over her top, Finn in tights, Snooki and the Situation, and Jesse grinding up against Santana and then... oh _God._ The memories of the previous night come flooding back to her—Sam _threw up _on her. And... good God, she vomited on the Bieberesque Sam. In front of _everyone._

Tears of humiliation are stinging her eyes now. Rachel doesn't like to cry—she doesn't like the way she turns into a huge, wallowing mess in front of others. She doesn't like the way her bottom lip wobbles precariously or the way her mascara runs in streams down her face. She especially doesn't like the way it makes her look helpless and practically age five rather than the responsible college sophmore that she is.

But she can't help it.

Rachel Barbra Berry made an absolute fool of herself the night before, and now, instead of dealing with the consequences like a rational, _adult_ human being, all she wants to do is curl up in fetal position and cry like an angsty teenager. Jesse probably thinks she's an idiot who is not only undeserving of his company but also is undeserving of the role as Maria, and Santana has probably seduced Jesse into having sex with her. Rachel has lost the man of her dreams to her whorish ex-best friend. Jesse will never realize how right they are for each other and as a result, they'll never get married. And if they don't get married, they'll never be able to have ridiculously talented children.

And to top off all of these crises, Rachel's probably wearing Finn's clothes which means he saw her naked _again. _And this time, she can't even _remember _it.

A lump growing in her throat combines with the world careening back and forth in front of her, and Rachel promptly bursts into tears.

She tries to cry as quietly as she can, and her legs slump against the bedroom wall behind her. She collapses into a small ball, hugging her legs to her body, as she wails and bemoans her sad, pitiful, meaningless existence.

She's so deep in her self-hatred that she doesn't notice the scuffling noise of Finn getting up until he's there, wrapping his big, muscular arms around her and imploring her to stop crying. Rachel doesn't even stop sobbing to give him a withering glare—instead, she wraps her small hands into his blue Superman shirt and cries. The fabric of Finn's shirt darkens under her grasp, but if Finn is grossed out by all the snot and tears and running black mascara that is getting all over his clothes, he doesn't say anything. For that, Rachel is grateful.

She wails hysterically, explaining how she _never _drinks and shouldn't have started for a boy, and now because of her consumption of alcohol, she's most likely lost her future husband to her backstabbing ex-best friend. Finn seems a bit confused, especially at the husband bit, but he holds her even closer, and Rachel inhales his scent of boy and faded cologne and sweat and the alcohol on his breath from last night. Finn smells pretty rank, but Rachel isn't going to say anything as she's probably still covered in Sam's vomit from last night.

"It's gonna be fine," Finn shushes her, his brown eyes big and gentle, and Rachel just cries even more. Finn rubs small circles on her back and tells her he'd get Kurt, but Kurt is fighting with Blaine and he doesn't want to get involved right now. Rachel is too preoccupied with her current predicament and bawling to wonder what happened with her gay best friend and his boyfriend, so she lets Finn hold her and rock her back and forth as though she's a child.

Unfortunately, all the crying is causing her to become more dehydrated and making her headache immeasurably worse.

Fortunately, Finn picks up on it.

"Do you want some water?" he asks softly, a light note to his voice, and through her vision blurred and swimming with tears, Rachel nods pathetically.

"Alright," Finn replies, and he slips up to fill a glass with water in the bathroom. Rachel leans against the wall, all puffy eyelids and broken heart, when Finn returns. "Here we go," he continues gently, as he hands her the glass of water.

Rachel's fingers are trembling as she takes it from him, and she nearly drops the cup. Some of the water sloshes over the edge, staining Finn's football shirt that she's wearing, and she almost starts crying again right there.

"Shh, it's okay," Finn coaxes, taking the glass out of her shaking hands. He holds the glass up to her mouth, and rubs her shoulders as she drinks water like an invalid.

"Easy there, Rach, you don't want to choke," Finn teases as Rachel gulps down the water with a determined desperation. She forces herself not to glare scathingly at him.

With every sip of water Rachel feels a little less dehydrated and a little less sick. Her mind is starting to clear and when she's finally done drinking like a thirsty puppy, she pushes the cup away. The whine that comes out is unladylike, but she's hungover for the first time in her life—so just cut her a break, okay?

Finn holds back a small chuckle as he pulls the glass away from her face.

"You alright?" Finn asks, and Rachel nods dumbly, not trusting herself to speak without embarrassing herself. Not that she can really humiliate herself anymore than she already did the past night, but... yeah...

Finn... looks surprisingly good, Rachel decides. His hair is all mussed and rumpled and his eyes are gummy and his breath is foul, but there's a surprisingly rugged look to his stubbled chin, and his face is actually clean. He's looking at Rachel with a cross between pity and reverence—kind of like the way a concerned parent would look at his or her child, and Rachel wonders how bad she must look right now.

"I apologize for my unkempt appearance," Rachel squeaks in a small voice, and when Finn tosses back his head and _laughs, _there's a noisy ringing in her ears that makes Rachel wince in pain.

"Sorry," Finn says in a quieter tone. "Being hungover for the first time is hard."

"Ugh. I pride myself on my hygiene and composure," Rachel answers, rubbing her temples with her hands. "Alcohol has reduced me to a blithering idiot. Therefore, I am never, _ever _drinking again. Alcohol is a foul substance that should have been banned during the Prohibition period."

Finn looks confused. He arches an eyebrow and glances at her a bit stupidly. "Didn't that have to do with slavery?"

Normally, Rachel would give Finn the most condescending look she could muster and waltz away from the conversation because whoever was this thick didn't deserve to be in her presence. However, considering the circumstances that Finn was basically just her doctor and saved her life and gave her water, Rachel decides to ignore Finn's idiotic comment.

"What happened last night?" she asks instead, brown eyes shining with exhaustion.

Finn groans, throwing back his head. Rachel tries to take her eyes off of his bobbing Adam's apple.

"Things just... went too far," he admits, running a hand through his chestnut brown hair. Rachel looks at him, imploring big eyes shining with unshed tears.

"So... after you threw up on Sam," (at this, Rachel winces visibly and Finn apologizes even though obviously it's not his fault), "you... passed out." (Rachel is more than horrified by this revelation). "No... you didn't fall in your throw up—it's okay. But then Puck and I helped you into the bathroom and... Sam... uh... he..."

"What happened?" Rachel demands, sensing that Finn is hiding some crucial detail from her.

"Sam threw up in your hair." Finn swallows hard as he waits for Rachel's reaction.

Rachel immediately throws her hand to feel her hair. And oh _God, _it's matted and caked with dried food and Finn must think she's absolutely _disgusting _right now.

"Do... do you want to take a shower?" Finn asks cautiously, eyes wide as though he's afraid Rachel will grow fangs and bite him any second.

"Just... keep going," Rachel protests weakly, and Finn's eyes grow even larger in his face. Rachel must be feeling pretty awful if she's willing to sit there with dried throw up in her hair with a boy who has now seen her naked two times.

"I... we tried to wash your hair," Finn mumbles on, looking guilty, "but Puck was... cross-faded and he kept laughing the whole time and I... I don't really know how to shampoo girls' hair. And Sam was throwing up... a _lot. _And so were you, actually."

Rachel flushes bright red, but Finn doesn't seem to mind. Rachel wonders briefly why he's being so nice to her, but thinking is rather difficult right now, so she prods Finn to continue recounting the escapades of the previous night.

"And so... I tried, but it was hard. I even went down to try and get Kurt and Blaine to help but Kurt was still bitching at the boy that looks like a meerkat with the Harry Potter lightning bolt on his face," (David Bowie, thinks Rachel exasperatedly, _Sebastian—_but she doesn't correct Finn), "for hitting on Blaine. And Blaine was crying... and I think they're actually still fighting about it now. And Artie... was so drunk he couldn't get up the stairs because he was taking shots that were lit on fire." Finn and Rachel both shudder at this thought because alcohol is bad enough without flaming. Finn finishes, "And then Mike was making these googly eyes at the Katy Perry girl. So it was just me."

Finn stops abruptly, looking at Rachel with apologetic eyes, and with a pang, Rachel realizes how bad she feels.

Finn was all by himself, trying to help put her back together, and he's worried that he's upset _her. _If anything, Rachel should be on her hands and knees, begging Finn to forgive her and forget this night ever happened and promising to make him snickerdoodles and peanut butter cookies for the rest of his existence.

"Thank you," she manages, and Finn looks visibly surprised at her reply which makes Rachel feel even crappier. She really has been a vindictive bitch, hasn't she?

"Um... so your dress was kind of ruined from water and uh... throw up," Finn says carefully, "so I just asked... um... I think her name is Quinn?"

At the mention of her archnemesis and the girl who has been making her life a living hell, Rachel's eyes flash open warily. "Quinn Fabray?"

Finn doesn't seem to notice because he continues. "Yeah, that's the one! Quinn Fabray! I asked Quinn to change you out of your dress and gave her one of my shirts to put you in." Finn's eyes flit around nervously, and Rachel tries to hide her disbelief. Quinn Fabray helped her? Quinn helped _Rachel?_

"Quinn was awfully nice about the whole thing," Finn says, wrinkling his forehead. "I thought you said she was mean to you, but she was really helpful and really, really nice last night. Anyway, you were so tired and there was a couple having sex in your room," (Rachel's mouth drops open in terror, and Finn flames pink), "so I just put you in my bed. And then... I guess I fell asleep. And now we're here," he finishes, a bit lamely.

Rachel looks at him, goldfishing as she tries to figure out what on earth to say after that.

"Thank you," she says, and then gets up on wobbling legs. "I have to shower."

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>And shower she does. It takes three times as much shampoo as she usually uses to get the remnants of vomit from out of her hair. It takes three times washing her face to remove the heavy makeup she'd applied from the night before. Rachel scrubs herself silly, trying to wash the smell of liquor and rotten food off of her body, and by the time she emerges, she's feeling considerably better.<p>

Her eyelids are still reddened from her embarrassing breakdown in Finn's room, but after she changes into an outfit of a short skirt with a tank top and applies light makeup, Rachel looks as good as new.

Rachel heads downstairs and runs smack dab into Sam.

Sam looks worse for the wear—his blonde hair sticks up in all different directions and his expression is completely miserable.

"I'm so sorry," he moans guiltily, but Rachel just holds up a hand to stop him.

If this experience has taught her anything, she has learned that she is no better at Sam than holding her drinks. And she doesn't have a right to judge because she is as much of a One Shot Wonder as Blaine. And at least Finn was taking care of Rachel; it looks like nobody has taken care of Sam.

"Go shower, and I'll make you some breakfast," Rachel says, ending the conversation.

Sam's eyes widen in surprise, but he nods gratefully, heading upstairs to their single bathroom to clean up.

Rachel walks down the stairs, stopping and staring at the battlefield that is their living room. Sighing with disgust, she continues to the kitchen, avoiding the discarded plastic red cups and trash that litters the floor. She makes a note to tell Noah to clean up the disastrous results of his _brilliant _idea.

Her mood brightens considerably as she enters the kitchen, which fortunately, isn't as dirty as the living room. Rachel hums as she searches through the pantry for her English muffins and tomatoes and asparagus, and she sets out making food. She throws some waffles in the toaster and takes out jam and butter. She doesn't eat eggs (they don't fit into her strict vegan diet), but she starts frying some up for the boys. She places boxes of cereal on their lopsided table (which is now flanked with an impressive X-Mentablecloth—Rachel reminds herself to tell Sam that she'd like to control the décor from now on), and is in the middle of taking out some toast when Finn shuffles into the kitchen, looking weary.

"Sit down and eat," Rachel orders lightly, and Finn slumps down in the chair, looking eagerly at the food.

"You made all of this?" Finn asks, flabbergasted, as Rachel slides a plate of sunny side-up eggs in front of him.

"Yes," Rachel says graciously, admittedly pleased at how Finn is staring at her in admiration. "Thank you for taking care of me last night."

"Rachel." Finn looks like he's about to say something but changes his mind mid-sentence. "It's not a problem. It's what friends do for one another, right?"

Something about the way Finn says "friends" nudges at Rachel in the wrong way, but she ignores it and smiles at him instead. "Thank you anyways."

"Thanks for breakfast," Finn replies eagerly. He shovels an egg into his mouth so quickly Rachel is afraid he might choke.

Soon, Artie and Mike manage to blearily stumble their way (Artie wheels in drunkenly) into the kitchen. They stare at each other and at the spread of food, and then race to the table. Artie wins—Mike's long limbs are no match against Artie's wheelchair—and they both start eating as though they haven't eaten in ages. Puck staggers in after Artie and Mike, and he rests his head against the table in what Rachel can only guess is a hangover-induced state.

Kurt and Blaine are last. Kurt pulls out a chair from the opposite side of the table as Blaine, giving his boyfriend a furious look of contempt, and Blaine just looks sadly at Kurt with big, wet eyes as he spreads jam on a piece of toast.

"Coffee, please," Kurt sniffs, and he looks so distraught that Rachel doesn't even call him out for being demanding. Instead, she quietly fills a mug for him, and prepares it the way he likes—a bit of skim milk and a splash of honey. (She makes a mental note to talk to Kurt when he's not acting like such a diva).

The kitchen is silent save the sound of chewing and satisfied sighs. Rachel watches the boys with something akin to pride at her ability to make them all feel better.

"Huh, funny," Puck says, as he snatches a waffle from the center of the table and douses it in syrup. "Living with a chick has its perks, I guess."

Just for that sexist comment, Rachel takes the waffle off his plate and gives it to Sam.

Sam beams at her, and Rachel smiles.

"You're doing the dishes," Rachel tells the boys.

All at the same time, their grins slide off their faces.

Living with boys has its perks too.

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>By the time Monday rolls around, Rachel is almost petrified at going to class. She's afraid people will bring up her embarrassing mishap at the party, and but she decides to walk in proudly instead, head held high as she takes whatever crap people plan to give to her.<p>

To her surprise, nobody mentions anything.

To her greater surprise, she's approached by Quinn after her first class.

"Hey Rachel," Quinn says, in a cool measured tone. "Are you feeling better?"

Rachel looks at Quinn and wonders if the blonde girl has schizophrenia or some other multiple-personality disorder which caused her to go from being a bitch to a saint.

"Yes," Rachel answers politely, "thank you for taking care of me. Finn told me you were very helpful." (She tries to picture this—Quinn changing her out of vomit-stained clothes into Finn's football shirt. The image clashes strongly with the Quinn that is constantly criticizing her voice and her outfit and her personality).

"No worries," Quinn laughs as though she and Rachel are friends. Rachel wrinkles her nose in confusion as she studies the other girl, but Quinn's pretty, flawless face is devoid of any signs that she's not being genuine.

"So... Finn?" Quinn says conversationally, her fluted voice even. "He was really sweet with you on Saturday."

"Yes..." Rachel replies, eyeing the blonde uncertainly. She doesn't really understand why Quinn is bringing up Finn.

"Is he taken? Are you two... _together_?" Quinn cocks her head, looking at Rachel with clear hazel eyes, and Rachel is a bit taken aback at the question.

"N-n-no," Rachel stammers in reply, "Finn and I are just friends." (And they are, right? That's what Finn told her when she made breakfast for him. He said they were _friends)._

"Oh, okay, cool," Quinn says, flicking a strand of golden-spun hair behind her ear. "So it's alright with you then if I ask Finn out?"

"You mean on a date?" Rachel asks, slowly, mind processing Quinn's words. She's surprised at how defensive and shocked her tone sounds, but if Quinn notices, she doesn't mention the guardededness in Rachel's voice.

"Yes, a date," Quinn replies simply, cool eyes regarding Rachel with a look Rachel can't quite interpret. "Is that a problem?"

"No, of course not," Rachel responds automatically, her heart staccato-ing hard in her chest.

"Great then." Quinn smiles, and it doesn't really reach her eyes, but Rachel is too shocked at the fact that Quinn Fabray—the perfect, pretty blonde who Rachel has always hated and admired at the same time, is actually talking to her and being... well... _decent._

"I'm going to ask him out," Quinn continues, "put in some good words for me, will you?"

"Uh... yes, of course," Rachel says quickly, but her words sound hollow.

"Thanks, Rachel." Quinn turns on her heels and heads the opposite direction, perfect blonde hair drifting in the wind, her small waist and beautiful body leaving Rachel a mess behind her.

Rachel doesn't know why her heart drops in her chest, but she tries to put her thoughts behind her as she heads to her next class.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: AND WHAT DO YOU THINK! THE FINCHEL... :D

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_Replies to Anonymous Reviews:_

_bueller: _Thank you so much for your review! Haha I tried to choose their costumes as it seemed fit, and yes, poor, poor Rachel with the object of her desires running away with Kim Kardashian a.k.a. Santana haha. :) Hope this chapter answered your question about them cleaning up!

_This Calls For More Glitter_: Thank you for your review! Jesse St. James is kind of a dick, isn't he? Haha :) And YES! Kurt standing up for his man! I'm glad you like the beginnings of Quick and Tike and I hope you weren't too shocked by this chapter!

_FinchelandSamareHeaven4Me_: Thanks for the review. Hated the finale so I feel you there.

_Harry_: Glad you enjoyed their costumes! Yes, Harry Potter parties and Lord of the Rings parties are quite the things, aren't they?

_Don't Stop Writing_: Aww, that means so much! I'm sorry my update took considerably longer than expected but I'm glad you like the storyline and AUs are great, aren't they? Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

_Baylee_: Bitchy Rachel is the best type of Rachel in my opinion. Glad you like the story!

_Finchelgleek_: Travis Barker is the bomb! He's so sexy haha :) Glad you like the story!

_Taylore_: Ugh, I was shrieking at my TV during the finale, juts pissed at everything. No, you're not crazy at all. I'm glad you like my story-I really appreciate your feedback! Haha I chose Snooki and the Situation primarily for that reason :) Thanks so much for your review!

_Guest_: Here's your new chapter! Sorry it took so long!

_Siriusallpunked_: Thank you so much for your review! Fanfiction is the best! I'm so glad you like my story, and your comments mean a lot!

_MORE_: Here's more! Sorry it took so long to update!

Has anybody been watching the _Glee Project? _What do you think of the contenders? Anyways, thank you for reading! Please review and let me know what you think! The more reviews I get, the more motivated I will be to update!

-strawberryfinn


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